Made For This
by LynnAgate
Summary: The Croatoan virus has hit hard, and Max and Dean team up to survive.  And how about some dramatic romance? Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke and Dark Angel is owned by James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee. For entertainment purposes only
1. Unite

Twenty-eight transgenics trudged toward the oncoming Croatoan mob with guns and fists drawn, ready for action.

"Here comes another easy slaughter," Max said to Zack as they neared the people-mass.

They all shared the wounds of a transgenic soldier: cuts, light bruises, maybe a broken bone or two or a gunshot wound – nothing from which they couldn't heal, and quickly.

They collided with the mass and began their work, their same routine they'd been through every other day for almost eight months. This was the work for which they were designed; they were a walking, strategic, transgenic army, marching mostly on empty stomachs. They were nomadic, assessing and eliminating the Croatoan threat as they moved along.

When they needed sleep, they slept in camps, abandoned buildings, and abandoned homes. They ate only what they needed to survive, they drank as much water as they could.

But they were not as militarized or emotionless as the Manticore officers would have wanted.

The army, especially after a tough or lengthy fight, would head to any open or abandoned bar, depending on what part of the country they were in, and let off steam and release the pressure.

Some soldiers moved on, some stayed. Some alleviated their stress and boredom by hooking up or self-medicating or drinking.

Alec used to drink, Max thought. And now so do I.

Despite the soldiers lost or missing, relaxing or fighting, they all continued on as one entity.

Max swung a ridiculously hard right cross into a Croat with a blue corduroy jacket on, and heard a sickening crack as her fist slammed into the bone beneath his mushy-under-her-knuckles face. Blood rushed out of his nostrils as he stumbled backward and caught his balance. He shook his head like a wet shaggy dog shakes of water, shrugging off her punch, and advanced toward her, his near-subhuman growl vibrating through his throat.

Max gritted her teeth and kicked him hard in the stomach. Blue Cord toppled forward, doubling over and revealing several bites at his neck and fresh claw marks on his back.

"So that's how you got infected," she said, more to herself than to him.

Blue Cord stood up and continued after her, a crazed look taking over his remaining facial features.

"Max! Need backup?" came Zack's question. He had been fighting a nearby Croat, himself.

"Nope!" she called. "He just doesn't know how to stay down." Max's hand moved to her hip holster and unsheathed her blade. She lunged forward, slicing into the man and pulling the blade upward with a grunt.

Blue Cord fell to the ground and twitched.

Max, satisfied that this time the offender would stay down, turned to face Krit. He seemed to be battling a brother-sister team of twins. He looked to the nonchalant Max as she sheathed her knife.

"Behind you!" the dark-haired transgenic warned. Max's eyes grew big as she spun around.

The ugly, infected man she'd just gutted moments ago came at her full speed. She prepared to grab him by the neck, but in a surprisingly quick maneuver, he lunged forward and bit down hard on her hand.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted. Max struggled her hand free from his vice-like jaws, and then brought both free hands up to snap his neck. Clean break.

His limp body collapsed to the ground.

Krit finished off one of the twins with a twist of the neck and turned back to Max. "You okay?"

Max hustled to his side and kicked the brother twin in the shin with awesome force. His leg snapped in half as the Croat went down. He tried to claw his way to Krit, who reached down and broke his neck slowly, listening to each crack until the satisfying fatal click.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Max finally answered. "I used my last bandage, though." She inspected her bleeding wound.

Krit pulled some fabric from his cargo pant pocket and tossed it to her. She quickly wrapped her hand.

The two then turned, looking either for a comrade in need or a new victim.

Before they found another Croat, they heard a noise which called their attention to the top of the hill, over which they saw a shiny black Impala drive, high-beams on and old rock blaring.

"Who the hell…?" Max trailed.

"Do they know what they're getting themselves into?" Krit asked.

Both soldiers headed toward the vehicle as it crossed the valley quickly. It seemed like the vehicle was moving toward the transgenic-infused Croat-mass.

"Move!" Max shouted to her fellow soldiers, cupping her hands at her mouth. "Get out of the way!"

There were only a dozen Croats left on the battlefield, and she could see the unwillingness in her comrades' eyes to give up their fights dwindle as the car revved closer and closer.

The transgenics scattered out as the Impala hit the closest Croat, sending him flying toward two others. All three were knocked down with a split second to spare before being run over.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Zack in awe.

The Impala spun and skidded to a stop, the passenger's side door opening toward Max.

A very tall man climbed out of the car and leveled the scope of his rifle to shoulder height. He aimed just past Max and squeezed the trigger. Within the same second, she felt splatter at the side of her head and unconsciously raised a hand to it. When she pulled it into her vision, she saw brains. She snapped her head right and saw the now headless corpse stretched face down in the mud.

"Thanks," Max said to the tall dark-haired man.

He threw her a half smile and turned to face the remaining Croats. "Dean!" he shouted, taking off around the Impala, raising his gun at an oncoming Croat.

Max took off toward the mass as the tall guy squeezed of another round. She blurred to his side and he did a double-take at her apparent speed then returned his attention to the scuffle in front of them. Max followed his gaze and saw a tall (but not as tall as the dark-haired guy) dirty blonde – who apparently was named Dean. They watched him fight a particularly stubborn Croat, who had grabbed Dean by the collar and was trying desperately to bite him.

Dean fought with his back to them, wrangling one arm free only to throw an elbow to the Croat's face. The infected's head rocked back and returned to Dean's fist, bloodied from the broken nose of the Croat's body.

The tall man passed his rifle to Max and pulled a knife from his jacket. He held the blade between his thumb and forefinger. "Dean!" he shouted.

"Kinda busy right now, Sammy," Dean shot back, his scruffy voice grating over the few other fights. Dean pulled his own knife from somewhere (Max couldn't tell) and gutted the Croat in an almost identical fashion to what Max had done minutes ago. She watched with some excitement.

'Sammy,' on the other hand, re-sheathed his metal, obviously dejected.

The Croat fell forward. Dean grabbed his hair in one fist, and swept his now-empty left hand in front of the attacker's face. He carefully situated his hand at the Croat's chin and twisted his neck in one fluid movement.

As he heard the snap, he turned to the 'Sammy' guy with a smile and said, "Too easy. I don't feel like he was even trying."

Dean shifted his sight to Max. He smiled charmingly. "Hi," he said, before turning back to Sammy.

Max wasn't sure she had actually just seen what she had just seen.

Dean picked his knife up and wiped it on cloth he fished from his pocket, then crouched down. He slid his knife back into his boot, brushed the dirt off his knee, and stood up.

Max's face paled the moment he looked back to her and she saw his face clearly for the first time.

"You okay?" Dean asked, moving a few steps closer.

Max raised the rifle and aimed at Dean, whose hands lifted up defensively.

"Whoa, whoa… It's okay," he tried.

"It sure as hell isn't!" Max shouted.

Krit and Zack came up behind Max as Dean stared at her. The other transgenics had ganged up on the remaining Croats and were otherwise occupied.

"Who the hell are you?"


	2. A Drive Into Town

Dean looked to Sammy with a sarcastic stare.

Sammy had no answer.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Dean asked.

"That's Dean. I'm Sam," Sammy said, pointing in small gestures.

"Bullshit," Max declared.

"No, we swear," Sam pleaded. He didn't understand why she didn't believe them. Did he have to show her their licenses?

"Why'd you give her your gun, you idiot?" Dean asked Sam.

"Stop talking and tell me the truth!" Max demanded.

Dean's eyes widened in anger. "Dean. Winchester."

"Show me your barcode," Max ordered.

"My what?"

"Your barcode!"

"Free to a good home, sweetheart," he said, again with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eye. He took this split second of her distraction to check her out. With loose hair from her long braid falling against her temples with the breeze, he could think only that her hair would frame her perfectly no matter if it was up or down. It drew attention to her face, which he already thought was filled with a different kind of beauty.

"Very funny, pretty boy," Max started. "Turn around."

Sam took a step forward and she jerked her body toward him, lining the gun up with his stomach. Sam threw his hands up, too.

Max turned her attention back to Dean, who did as instructed and turned around. Max noticed this guy's hair did nothing to obstruct a barcode. Particularly because there wasn't one.

Max lowered the rifle. "Okay, you can turn around."

Dean looked over his shoulder. "O-kay," he said. When she handed the rifle back to Sam, Dean continued. "What the hell was that all about?"

Max softened. "I thought you were someone else."

Dean looked to Sam again, semi-worried. He mumbled, "the shape shifter's dead, so I don't know…"

Max folded her arms. "How old are you?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "None of your business."

"'Bout thirty-five?" Max guessed.

Dean gave her a look to suggest she stop asking.

"Did you go missing when you were about ten?"

"No," Dean said, looking at her like she was nuts.

Max knew he was lying. She caught Dean looking over to Sam and somehow understood not to continue her line of questioning.

"My mistake," she said with a sweet smile. Turning back to Dean, she continued. "Thanks for the assistance."

Max turned to face Krit and Zack. Zack gave her an incredulous look, and managed not-so-under-his-breath-ly, "We had it under control without them."

Dean looked at the makeshift army. Sam hadn't picked up on it yet, but Dean saw that some of them had been bitten – probably days ago – and hadn't changed. He eyed Max suspiciously. When she caught him, he gave her a look which suggested they needed to talk.

"Hey Zack, see if anyone needs medical. I gotta make a run to the hospital for some gauze and some tubes."

Dean watched as Max tended to her people.

"Dude, who are these people?" Sam asked suddenly.

As Zack walked away, Dean caught sight of something on his neck – some series of black lines. "They're just like us, Sammy. Soldiers."

Dean turned to head back to the impala. Sam followed close behind.

"But did you see the way they moved?" Sam persisted as Dean opened the trunk. Sam returned the rifle to its rightful position.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, playing dumb.

"Their movements are quick and tight. They're professionals…" Sam trailed, trying to find the right words. "It's almost as if they're-"

"Military?" Dean asked, closing the trunk.

Sam straightened. "Well, yeah."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. I'm gonna see if I can ride along with the chick and get more info. Think you can handle it by yourself for a while?"

Sam looked around and returned a hesitant look to Dean.

"What?"

"You're ditching me to go get laid?"

"No, I just think if I go with her, I can find out more about what's going on here."

"You mean besides the Croatoan invasion?"

"Yeah, besides that."

Sam huffed and looked over to Max. Dean followed his gaze.

"Krit, you got a vehicle nearby I can borrow?" Max asked.

Krit shook his head.

"I can't get supplies back on the Ninja and I'm almost out of gas anyway."

"Zack's talking about rolling into that town ten miles up and holing up at the motel. Plenty of space, locking doors, vending machines. Town's deserted."

"Sounds good," Max said.

Dean found his opportunity into the conversation. "I got a car; I'll go with you to the hospital. And that town is deserted – that's where we came from. Killed most of them."

"Most of them?" Max asked, turning her attention back to him. He wasn't Manticore, he wasn't who she thought he was – but he wasn't just a normal guy. Neither was his brother.

"Some of them were already dead." Dean folded his arms. For some reason unbeknownst to him, her expression seemed softer than it should have been.

Max looked back to Zack. "We'll meet you back."

"Max!" Zack called, throwing her an empty backpack. She let it hang from her hand. "Be careful."

Dean led the way to the car and they both climbed in.

"Sweet ride," Max said, situating the backpack at the floorboard as Dean started the engine and twisted the volume knob, quieting the rock and roll music.

The Impala headed through the battlefield and up the hill from whence it came.

"So I kinda got the feeling you wanted to talk to me," Max started, trying to catch Dean's eyes. He stared forward at the road.

"Max, right?"

"Yeah."

"How long you been fighting?"

Max sat back against the cool seat and watched his eyes as they darted to different spots in the road. Eventually they spent a couple seconds on her, waiting for her response.

"Seems like my whole life." She found herself wondering if he knew about Manticore, but wanting to hide it from him nonetheless.

"Yeah? Me, too." Dean glanced at one of the quickly-fading scars on her collarbone. "Kinda runs in the family."

"Military brats?" Max asked, trying to draw on her not-so-obviously-Manticore speaking points.

Dean took a deep breath. "Something like that." He paused a moment and rolled to a stop at a light.

Max looked around. Not another moving, living thing on the way so far. "Why are we stopped?"

Dean pointed to the light with a smile. "Red light."

For no apparent reason, she appreciated his willingness to follow the laws in a weird situation like Croatoan fight. Because Alec would have, probably. Probably just to get a rise out of her.

Max felt the air in the car heat up a little, remembering Alec. Remembering Alec and remembering Ben.

Dean flashed the half-smile again, but instead of the usual blush followed by a shy or sweet return smile, the woman across from him looked down at her hands, then out the window.

The light flashed green and they continued through the town in silence. Two minutes passed before either spoke again.

"You're wondering how I knew about your abduction," she finally said.

"The question had occurred to me." Dean adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

Max bit her lip. There was no way she could sum up hers and Alec's relationship in the span of a car ride. He had been much more to her than she ever thought he could be. And here she was, sitting next to his probable DNA donor. "I, uh, knew someone. Someone who looked like you. Except younger."

Dean thought about the shape shifter. Unless they'd caught on ten years early, he'd never seen a shifter shape into a younger version of its host. Couldn't have been that. So why didn't he just admit what was floating around in his head, trying to make its way to his throat?

"And you're thinking about…?" Max trailed.

So he took a chance. "Shape shifters."

Dean was shocked that she wasn't even remotely surprised by what he just said. She must be a hunter, too.

Max shrugged. Naturally, he knew about all of this crap going on in the world. Of course. But he was still just human. Right?

Dean pulled over at the entrance to the hospital, trying to slide through the abandoned cars and avoid running over the bodies on the ground. He cut the engine and turned to Max.

"I wasn't ten," Dean said, matter-of-factly. He looked to Max to try to read her expression. "I was eight."


	3. Supply Run

Dean watched for her reaction, but again, she did not seem surprised. What was with this chick? Did she know all about hunters and demons and it was all no big deal?

"Do you remember it?" Max asked, fumbling with the hem of her hoodie. She'd heard one story before – about the abduction and the tests and the attempts to make them forget. The account the woman had given implied that she was one of many who had undergone the testing and extraction, but she was gone long before Max had the opportunity to corroborate her story (which she eventually did posthumously), and now she wished she had been able to speak with the woman before Manticore killed her.

But what would she do with that information anyway? Even if she could acquire any more details about how it all happened, what was she going to do with it? Visit the last known addresses of all the unwilling participants and apologize on Manticore's behalf? As if an apology would suffice? Say she knew how it felt because she was the result of one of those DNA sessions? No, that would only patronize an already-stressed person, who may not even remember being abducted at all.

But maybe she could understand some of it, and maybe it would shed some light on how Alec came to exist. And maybe he and Dean shared some characteristics, and uncovering some of what made Dean who he is could uncover the paradox of Alec. Or maybe that was too much to ask of a total stranger – to bare his soul and heart and scars just so she could feel better about what happened to Alec.

Dean had found himself swimming around in her eyes somewhere, but she was already digging deep into her own past; she was not really present either. He broke eye contact and stared past her, through the window and into the distance, as if the further out he could see, the more miles into his childhood he could trek.

What a distracted pair they might have seemed to anyone watching – unable to realize how much they had in common, thinking about their separate tribulations sitting in a car together, but virtually alone.

Max snapped out of her reverie and watched the way his eyebrows barely moved. There was despondency in his eyes, an all-too-familiar far-off look, which on Alec meant he was reliving things that were way out of his control, but for which he could not help but blame himself. Did that stare mean the same on Dean?

Max seemed to need something, and he could almost feel how badly she thought it was Dean who could provide it for her. He took a deep breath, not really sure if he was about to do this, but before he could utter a word, he caught something in his line of sight that made him sit up straighter and open his door. "We got company," he warned.

Max snapped her head toward the direction he seemed to be looking and saw a small mob of Croats approaching. She quickly pulled the lever on her door, slipped out of the passenger's side, slipped on the backpack, and looked for Dean.

He was quickly opening the trunk and rifling through it. As Max approached the back, she saw the extent of his arsenal. Dean looked to be trying to decide which weapon to use.

"Ladies' choice," he offered.

Max motioned toward her blade. "Trust," she said simply.

God help him, he found it hot that she preferred her blade. He did, too, but he figured _why not have a backup weapon_? and selected his machete. He watched Max for her response.

"Big blade," she said, smiling, eyeing the metal. "Know how to use it?"

Dean grinned and closed his trunk. Yeah, she knew how to play the game.

"I got a plan," she said, and hustled into the hospital. Dean jogged in behind her.

"Won't be long until they're in here, too," Dean said.

"This way." She led him through the scattered, pulled-apart bodies in the hospital and to the stairs. It shouldn't have surprised her that he didn't make any faces at the mutilation and bloody terror that had obviously occurred here, but it did.

They heard the first couple of Croats entering the hospital as they made it to the second floor. "Just need a few things. Think you can stall for a minute?"

"Of course," Dean said. He almost never declined a challenge.

Max disappeared through the stairwell door and Dean sat perched at the stairs, listening for the strange snarls and growls of the infected. His heart was pounding with the adrenaline and he couldn't help but wish they hadn't run into a closed building, and instead wished they'd stayed in the car and mowed the fuckers down. Sure, he'd machete those flesh-happy monsters ruthlessly, but he kind of wanted not to get scratched or bitten or dead in the process. Or have them chip the paint on the Impala.

He prepared himself for the Croats as the door one flight down opened. Max swung the stairwell door and held it open. "This way!" she shouted, waving him in.

She had only been gone for under a minute, and yet the backpack seemed full. She should have been out of breath, considering the only way she could have picked up a backpack full of supplies would be if she had run, and if they were all in roughly the same location. But she wasn't out of breath.

Another item for the weird column, he thought, and followed her through the door. She hustled toward the other end of the hospital, checking for him behind her a couple of times along the way.

As they ran down the stairs and out the back exit, Dean wasted no time planning the route back to his car.

"Leave it for now!" Max had shouted from behind him.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, turning to watch her.

Max gave him an incredulous look. "What do you think, they're gonna steal it?"

Well, yeah, that's what he thought. He hadn't seen a Croat move anything else but on foot, but that didn't mean they couldn't drive. His speechlessness tickled her, apparently, because she started laughing, turned and began running in the opposite direction.

"It's not a ridiculous thought," he said, jogging to catch up to her.

"It kind of is," she said, continuing to laugh.

In the split second between when Max had turned the corner and when Dean had, a trio of nasty-looking Croats had appeared, and one of them had lunged herself at Max. She had Max in a chokehold and Max looked to be squirming as the infected woman pulled her closer. And it was at this very moment that Dean had wished he'd selected a gun instead of a machete.

The other two, who were males, advanced toward Dean in what appeared to be a strategically planned attack. They must have recently turned, he realized, because they moved with a little more thought and a little less need for his death.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, clutching the machete and raising it. He backed up a few steps, trying to ready himself for the fight at hand.

Both Croats came at him full speed, one ready to punch him. Dean ducked, and while he was down, he slid the knife out of his boot, clutching it in his left hand nondescriptly. It was a split second choice, and once he had stood, he sent one assailant over his back and onto the ground. He spun, moving so that he was facing both Croats again.

In an amazing move he expected looked nothing like what he had seen in action movies, he flashed the machete in front of the left Croat, missing his neck, and spun around in some kind of football maneuver to sink the short blade into the right Croat's collarbone. He slid the metal left and severed the Croat's left carotid, hit the vertebrae, and turned the knife upward. With some adrenaline-infused muscle, he jerked the blade into the Croat's chin, crossed the machete over both their heads, and sliced the head off scissor-fashion, as if he was cutting a smaller piece of meat for a child.

The body fell to the ground, its head rolling toward Max, who had somehow managed to get free of the woman Croat's grasp and seemed to be making quick work of her un-life. The woman had been forced onto her stomach, and Max was pulling up on the woman's head, her knees holding the woman's arms down by their elbows. He thought he could see something on the Croat's neck. A tattoo, maybe.

Meanwhile, Dean's second opponent, having seen the skill with which he disarmed, or more appropriately decapitated, the other threat, checked Dean's murderous stare and looked as if he was going to run away. Which he then, promptly, did.

"What the fuck?" Dean asked again.

Max pulled the woman's head as if pulling the cord on the lawnmower. Satisfied the Croat was dead, Max stood up, looking a little pale and holding her own collarbone.

"You hurt?" he asked. He hoped she wasn't, because if she was, there might be something he had to do about it. Unfortunately, it looked like the woman Croat had sunk her teeth in and got a piece of Max.

Max's eyes lit up with some surprise. "Haul ass!"

Dean looked behind him, as the other Croats previously inside the hospital seemed to figure out exactly where they were, and were making their way toward the fighting duo.

They ran as fast as humanly possible back toward the front of the hospital. Fuck if she thought it was ridiculous, Dean internalized, Max was hurt now and he was damn sure they needed to get the hell out of this town.

They reached the Impala and Dean threw his machete in the back seat. Max had jumped into the passenger's seat and began rifling through the backpack.

As he slid into the cold front seat, he pulled the door shut and started the engine. He burned rubber and headed back toward the field.

"Max, what the hell? How did these Croats get the drop on us?"

Max immediately pulled off her hoodie and held it to her collarbone. She sandwiched it there between shoulder and ear, and groaned lightly as she dug into the backpack.

"And did you not see they were thinking? _Thinking!_ How is that possible?" Dean was driving furiously, this time without regard to the rules of the road, and checking her face frequently, expectantly.

She took a breath and turned the hoodie over, revealing a sopped-up, soon-to-be bloodstain on the swatch that had just spent mere seconds on her wound.

"Max! You clearly know more than you're letting on!"

Finally, she faced him, the loose hairs of her braid now bloodied and sticking to her neck. "That's not normal," she said.

"No shit! Tell me something I don't know. Croats don't act like that. They're not capable of forethought."

Max turned the hoodie again. "_They're_ not normal," she added.

Dean huffed and floored the accelerator. "Cut the bullshit, Max! I know there's something you're not telling-"

"They were supposed to be immune," she interrupted, staring at him with some unknown hurt in her eyes. "But instead the virus mutated and I wasn't able to save them. They were my friends and I couldn't save them."


	4. Wounded

Dean couldn't hide his shock. Did she just say those Croats were supposed to be immune? "What do you mean 'immune'? No one is immune to the virus."

Max turned the hoodie over again and continued digging into the pack. She knew it would only be a minute or two until she stopped bleeding, but that didn't mean she didn't have to clean her wound and get stitched up. It would take longer to heal if she didn't use the antiseptic and close the wound.

He thought he was handling this pretty well, considering how skeptical he'd been when he first saw some of their wounds – in various stages of healing – and considering the (now) countless numbers of Croats he'd either seen die or killed himself. He found himself thinking that maybe he shouldn't be surprised by this, because viruses mutate, and some have cures and some don't.

Max found a small pad of gauze and bottle of hydrogen peroxide and pulled them onto her lap. "Look, you can argue with me about our immunities, or you can wrap your mind around it, pull over, and administer some field med!" She seemed to be getting paler the more she tried to assert herself.

It was quiet for a moment as Dean fought internally to ignore his instincts on this one. Since the virus had hit, he hadn't run into anyone who was immune, and anyone he knew had been bitten or infected had been on the other side of his merciful weapon, begging him not to let them turn into one of those _things._

If, for some reason, Max didn't turn – never mind that it would be impossible – then she would need her wound cleaned and stitched. If she did turn, though, at least he could take care of her before she got back to her own people.

"You're thinking I'll turn and you'll have to kill me," she said, breaking the silence.

Dean kept his stare forward and grinded his teeth. Was she a freaking' mind reader, too?

Max watched him, thinking she'd have to stitch her wound shut herself. Her blood had coagulated and she set the hoodie in her lap, trying to be respectful of the Impala's pristine interior, and prepared to unscrew the cap on the cleanser. Finally, she looked away from Dean and down to the bottle, which itself was covered in her bloody fingerprints.

Before she could get a grip on the stained lid, Dean swerved the car to the side of the road and parked under a huge tree. "Get out," he said, opening his own door. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

"What?"

Dean met her on the passenger's side and opened her door.

She guessed she was going to have to do this herself, and that she'd have one hell of a time getting back to her comrades if she couldn't get food or water and had to try to travel long distances with the injury and the blood loss which came from it. Was there no decency left in the world? Or in the people left in the world?

Max gathered her hoodie, the gauze, the hydrogen peroxide, and the backpack clumsily and began to climb out.

"This car's seen enough blood," he said. "Better to sew you back together out here." Dean took the backpack and peroxide from her and led her to the trunk. He opened it and motioned for her to sit.

Once seated, she seemed to relax – or maybe her blood loss made her weaker, Dean couldn't tell – and as he prepared to help, first, grabbing a spare tee from one of the side pockets, he saw some surprise and gratitude in her posture.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Dean unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a step closer to Max. He considered telling her it would sting, but she'd already know that, what with being a military brat, or whatever other kind of life would lead to her having fought what seemed like most of it, or whatever that meant.

Max pulled the neck of her tank top further from her collarbone, exposing her wound fully.

Dean wasn't soured from what he saw, but he did find it surprising that she'd clearly been both bitten and stabbed. And if she'd been stabbed, it meant that not only were the Croats they encountered capable of thought, but they were also capable of using weapons.

Dean took a calculated breath and held the white tee against her skin, below the gash. She tried to look down at the wound, but couldn't quite see it. Dean met her low gaze and kept her stare as he poured the peroxide over the raw flesh.

A flurry of bubbles stung throughout the sliced and ripped skin, and Max growled from the pain, sucking air through clenched teeth.

Dean took in a huge breath and blew on the wound. As the hydrogen peroxide cleaned the carelessly cut depths, it dribbled down and absorbed into the tee, turning it pink and red.

"Looks pretty deep," he offered.

Max spoke in a low whisper. "Yeah, well I'm not exactly on their Christmas lists anymore."

Dean checked the backpack for the items to sew her up.

"So you knew those people?" he asked, finding the needle first.

Max was barely present as she thought back to when she had seen them last – the three Croats they had encountered were from Alec's old unit. Ty, Vick, and Angeli were all X5, and she had sparred with them after her recapture and consequent heart transplant. She regretted not staying behind with them – maybe with more transgenics, they'd have had a shot at survival, or at least at not getting infected.

"Were they out of dissolvables?" Dean asked, holding up the cotton twine for stitching with a quasi-puzzled look about him.

Max settled her gaze back to him. She would have to tell him something about Manticore soon. The more time they spent together, the more questions he'd have. "Uh, no. I'll probably heal before the others have a chance to dissolve."

Dean's brows lifted at this news. That would mean she would heal before, what, seven days had passed? He was no stranger to the tough guy attitude, but even he was human and sometimes had to submit to that fact when healing from battles. He figured he would have a list of questions for her pretty soon if she kept up with these vague answers.

"Best to skip the middle man," Max said.

The middle man being the stitches dissolving themselves? That would mean adding a middle man, Dean reasoned. He threaded the needle and stepped nearer to her. He rested his left hand's knuckles below the sliced skin.

Max took in a small, sharp breath. She seemed to Dean as though she were about to cry.

"That hurt?" he asked.

It didn't hurt – at least not the wound. It was his touch. His hands were so warm on her skin, and the ridges of his hands just barely touching her skin made her sad.

Alec had touched her once.

It had been during a moment of utter weakness and despair, and it had been raining out in the middle of the desert, and all of their fellow soldiers had stood in a circle around them as Alec laid on the ground with his head in Max's lap, waiting. Max had been crying, the second time he had seen her cry, and he had reached up to her face to smear the tear across her cheek.

And his hand had been so warm. Just like Dean's.

"No," she managed to mumble as she shut her eyes and wished Dean wasn't here – just for a few minutes of silence. Actually being alone was rare these days. She wondered if being lonely was worse.

Dean recognized the look of loss and quietly stitched her wound shut. Maybe she could use some quiet. One thing was for sure: some wounds never healed.


	5. The Tree of Knowledge

Dean poured some water onto the now pink- and red-stained tee and dabbed at the neatly sutured wound, then carefully smeared it at her neck, where the wisps of hair had fallen out of her braid and had been blood-stuck to it.

And she had let him clean her. There was something about his nearness that comforted her. Of course, she thought it was probably his Alec-ness that was bittersweetly calming, but in truth, it was the fact that someone was taking care of her, disallowing her distraction – which was also a blessing and a curse.

The last time someone had taken care of her, it was years ago – back before the virus had been released upon the world. Zack had been in Idaho for over two years before his memory floated back into his mind and he remembered who he was, and why he existed. He had come back to Seattle to find Max and find the remaining members of their old unit, and maybe do some damage to the Familiars while he was at it.

She and Zack had gone on a reconnaissance mission at the harbor to find the blueprints to any of their old holding cells. While Zack was onboard one of White's vessels, Max was supposed to go to the Harbormaster's office and pull the checkpoint logs to find out where the Familiars had been. Once she found the logs, that information might have led them to the holding cells, or at least given them some idea as to what was in store for the transgenics. They would then meet back up in the woods at a specific longitude and latitude and bring their findings back to Logan. Armed with that information, the three of them could warn the others and counter White's plans by letting White 'find' the other transgenics and intercept them before he could apprehend them. It was a good plan.

Once she was inside, though, it was as if the whole team of Familiars had known what they were up to, because they had tased her, which had paralyzed her, cut her arms and legs several times as they attempted to interrogate her, emptied a syringe full of chemicals into her, and dumped her into the water.

The whole time, she could think only that Zack wouldn't have known to look for her because they were supposed to meet back up at the rendezvous point in the woods.

As she had sunk into the water, paralyzed, she thought it would be just a few minutes before she drowned, and how stupid a way it was to die – so normal, so human.

In what seemed to be a truly miraculous moment, someone swam towards her underwater, wrapped his arm around her torso, and dragged her against the current for about five minutes, until they were both under the docks on the opposite end of the harbor. When she was finally above water, she had expected to see Zack, but it was Alec instead. She'd never been so happy to see him, but she still felt paralyzed.

Alec had carried her to the nearest unoccupied house, broke in with the force of his leg muscles, and run a warm bath for her. He had set her in it and watched her eyes as feeling and movement returned to her body. He had not been aware of the recon mission, nor the rendezvous point, both facts which had made her question why he had rescued her, and how he had known where she was.

Dean knew the look she was giving; he'd seen this look plenty of times. Hell, he was certain he looked this way sometimes. Tired, stuck in a memory of something he couldn't control, helpless to it all. She seemed paralyzed with the memory.

But as he swathed her skin with the soft cotton, taking off the dried, streaked blood, she allowed the feeling of it to wash over her, to let herself imagine it was Alec here, silently caring for her – because no words needed to be said – and that this act of bathing her was his forgiveness.

As deeply as she wanted it, though, she shamed herself for thinking it. Why would Alec forgive her? And more importantly: how?

Dean remembered seeing her hand had been wrapped with some spare cloth, and gently picked her hand up from her lap. His touch had, again, caused a pained look on her face. There was clearly something else that was going on, and somehow it had to do with him. He gently unraveled the makeshift bandage, which revealed a strange bite mark. The strange thing about it seemed to be how quickly it was healing. There were tiny little bruises on her palm, and only partially punctured skin at the back of her hand.

He thought back to everything she had said so far. She heals fast, he remembered. She had thought he was someone else when he showed up, she had known about his abduction (which he still didn't understand and they still hadn't talked about), she had gone to the hospital for tubes – and who needs tubes, and why?, she'd been fighting for what seemed like her whole life, she was good at up close and personal fighting, and she wasn't surprised that there were thinking, weapon-wielding Croats out and about. She also wasn't turning after several injuries. And the biggest thing: she had said 'our immunities'.

Dean let her hand slip out of his and immediately regretted it. Sometimes a stranger's touch is a healing touch, and his body seemed to miss the connection the moment he lost it. The loss of skin-to-skin contact broke Max out of her trance.

She couldn't change the past, but she could illuminate it for someone else, even if that meant exposing her own secret. It wasn't much of a secret anymore, anyway. "Manticore abducted you," she finally said.

Dean didn't expect that. "What? What is Manticore?"

Max shifted in her seat. "It's… a genetics experiment gone wrong," she tried to sum up. How does one even being to explain all the hell that was Manticore? "They were trying to genetically engineer super soldiers – soldiers who didn't have the ability to feel or judge, who were to follow orders and never back down, and fight and die for this country."

Almost sounded like his father, Dean realized. Except his father had a different set of mores to follow, and a different set of reasons to fight, and he wanted his sons to be capable of the feeling, the judging – and to make the right choice.

Max noted Dean's thoughts sent him somewhere else for a minute. Something about his movement mimicked Alec's processes. She wondered if they thought the same way.

"So they wanted to make me a super soldier?" Dean asked, thinking that this sounded more like an idea thrown around at a comic book convention than a serious conversation he was having with a tiny brunette at the trunk of his Impala. "For real?"

Max pressed her lips together, trying to think of a gentle way to break it to him. "Not exactly."

"Well then what, exactly?" Dean was starting to feel very impatient. He seemed to be on the precipice of finding out all the details about the abduction he'd kept secret for a long time.

"They saw something special in you, and they wanted to see if there was a genetic trait you carried that, um, made you an exemplary specimen for their program." Max's thoughts drifted to Alec again. He wasn't their perfect specimen, but he was probably as close as they would get.

"Their program?" Dean asked. Why wasn't she dispensing with as much information as possible? Didn't she understand that he had waited forever for this explanation?

He sure is dense, Max thought, holding back a smile. Just like Alec. "Yeah, they took some of your DNA and combined it with some other animals' DNA to make a super soldier capable of more than just you alone would have been capable of."

Dean's eyes widened. "What! That doesn't even make any sense."

"Deny it all you want, but that's what they did." Max waited for him to accept the idea. Yeah, it sounded crazy, but she'd heard worse. Hell, she'd seen worse. "Your DNA was one big ingredient in a Petri dish cocktail, and they plugged it all into a surrogate mother.

"And after that surrogate delivered, she was probably killed. All of the babies who were cooked up all have a barcode built into their DNA."

He must have thought she was on drugs, from the look he was giving her. She continued, "Remember that Croat I was fighting? You saw those lines on her neck, right? That's her barcode. Her identification. Her designation."

Though she felt it was kind of brash, it was the most straightforward she could be. Except it hurt, too, to risk him knowing that she was gestated in a tube before put into a womb, to think that she was meant not to feel or think, to imagine what happened to her mother after she was born, and to imagine what her mother must have felt like knowing she would deliver an unthinking, unfeeling child.

"That sounds unreal." He was being honest, but he did see the Croat's barcode, and everything she said, as fucked up as it seemed, did explain a lot of what he'd seen in the last few hours.

Max stared past him into the tree for a moment. "I'm one of them," Max finally said in a near-whisper. She looked up to him. "That's how I know all this."

She had a few renegade tears threatening to break the dam of her eyelids, but she jerked her head to the right anyway and pulled her braid up, revealing the creamy, tanned skin at her neck – with her own set of black lines.

Dean leaned into her and studied her 'barcode.' So she is one of these experiments, he decided. Some kind of super soldier meant to fight and die for this country. He instantly felt like an ass. Here he was, all upset that his DNA was taken, when really, she had probably had it much worse than he did.

Max dropped her braid and stared down at her hands.

"Does it say how much you cost?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Max turned back to him with a determined 'not gonna cry' look on her face. She smiled the smallest smile. Alec probably would have made that kind of joke, too. "And the reason I know that's what they did to you is that I knew your clones."

Dean pushed himself a couple steps back. "Plural? I have clones? Plural?"

Max looked down at her hands in her lap. "Had," she corrected.


	6. A Fighting Chance

_Well, this is awkward, _Sam thought_. What am I supposed to do here with a rag-tag group of soldiers while Dean's off 'finding out more about what's going on' with Max, or more likely, trying to get laid?_

He perused the not-so-bloody battlefield again and watched as Zack seemed to float from group to group. He inferred the stereotypically surfer-looking guy was probably the leader of this militant group. At least that was he vibe he seemed to be getting.

Sam took a chance and walked over to him. "Anything I can help with?"

Zack turned toward the too-eager-for-a-stranger Sam. "Not really. We're just patching up our wounded." He paused and checked out Sam's jacket pockets, eying the bulges suspiciously. "Unless you have some rags or gauze in there."

Sam looked down, removed his hands from his pockets, and held out the pockets' contents. "No, just these," he said. He had a set of keys, a Swiss Army knife, a few dollars, and a peppermint.

Zack squinted at the items and found himself playing the supermarket game he and the other checkers had played in the small farm town. What would Sam need with those things, and how could he put them together to create a story?

Something occurred to him. "Didn't you have another blade when you showed up – out of nowhere?"

Sam detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. _And why is he asking about my weapons?_ "Yeah," he said, replacing the items back into their pockets. "In my boot."

Sam followed Zack to a couple of seated soldiers in the back of a jeep. One, a dark-auburn-haired and scantily-clad woman, seemed to be stitching up the lacerated leg of a bald young man.

"Everything okay?" asked Zack.

"Yes," the young woman said, looking up a moment. She saw Sam and immediately smiled flirtatiously. "Who's your friend?"

Zack laughed and gestured to Sam. "Winchester," he said.

Sam thought it odd to have someone introduce another by their last name only. He lunged forward with an open hand, ready to shake hers. "Sam," he added.

"Mona," she said – and was it just him or did she kind of moan her name when she said it? – and nodding to her bloodied hands, added, "I'd shake your hand, but I'm elbow deep in Drew, here. Rain check for tonight?" She winked.

Sam laughed nervously and Zack pulled him by the arm. "Come on," he said, "she's got this." He led Sam through a group of soldiers huddled beneath a few trees, trying to catch some sleep. Eventually, Sam caught sight of a beautiful brunette, encircled by a group of kids. He didn't remember seeing those kids when he and Dean crested the hill.

"Gwen!" Zack called out.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye and motioned for the kids to stay put. She jogged over to the tall men.

"Where'd those kids come from?" Zack asked.

"Found them hiding in a locked, abandoned car just over the hill," she said. She snuck a glance at Sam and turned back to Zack. "I'm gonna teach them the drills. You seen Drew?"

"Gettin' his leg sewn back on," Zack overdramatized.

"Drills?" Sam asked. Stupid question, he realized. The Croatoan virus had hit and there were barely any children who hadn't been killed. They were the most susceptible because of their lack of knowledge of how to protect themselves or survive on their own.

"Self defense, escape and evade," Gwen said, looking up to him.

She sort of reminded him of Xena, her light blue eyes shining up from under her dark hair. But she was more petite, and she just had this glow about her. She was pretty, he realized. Graceful in a way.

"And you needed Drew," Zack trailed, hoping Sam would take the bait.

Which he did.

"I can help," Sam offered.

Gwen smiled and sized him up. She didn't usually go for tall guys, but she might make an exception.

"Yeah, you know, if you don't mind a Jolly Green Giant – slash – Sasquatch half-breed," Zack said under his breath, but loud enough for both of them to hear. He turned to leave.

_This guy definitely shares some of Dean's awesome qualities, _Sam thought. _As if one Dean isn't enough._

"Gwen," she said, extending her hand.

"Sam," he responded, shaking her hand firmly, but not too firm.

She motioned toward the kids. "I just want to help them survive. Give them a fighting chance."

"How do you want to do this?" he asked, slipping off his jacket and tossing it to the floor. "Spar?"

Gwen almost licked her lips at the sight of him – such toned arms, but still built lean. She wondered if he was Manticore. He sure didn't look it, but it would be easy enough to figure out. "Um, just attack me, I guess."

She noted the hesitancy in his glance. "I got skills, don't worry. I can defend myself."

Did she just slink like a cat? He was pretty sure she did. He cleared his throat.

Gwen and Sam stepped into the middle of the circle. "Pay attention little ones. This is Sam."

Sam waved gingerly, as if he'd never spoken to a child before. He was unsure of how all of this was going to go, but he didn't want to scare the kids, and he didn't want to overshadow Gwen.

"He's going to attack me and I'll show you how to defend yourself if you ever need to incapacitate someone so you can get away." Gwen nodded to Sam and motioned for him to step forward and attack.

_Incapacitate? Why is it when she says it, it sounds so final? _

With no idea of what she knew how to do or how well she could fight, Sam swung at her, light on his feet and ready to dodge her if he missed and she swung back.

Apparently, he wasn't as ready as he thought, since he found himself on his back, straddled by the brunette, who seemed unusually strong for her size. She was holding him down by the throat, and said to the kids, "This maneuver utilizes my strength in combination with his movement, and how he is completely at my mercy."

_You have no idea, _Sam thought, staring up at her.

Gwen stood up and offered him a helping hand up, which he took. "Now, come at me from behind," she ordered.

_Okay, so she's fast with reaction time. So all I need to do is fake left and go right, in a manner of speaking._

Sam stepped behind her and started to put his arms around her as if to hold her arms down, then at the last second, dropped to a squat and swept his leg forward and under hers. This caused her to fall sideways to the ground.

Gwen caught the fall with her hands as Sam stood and offered his hand to her. Taking his hand, she stood. "So that was a good example of how your enemy might strategize. That's why it helps to always be ready to improvise, because an enemy might be smart or have discovered your moves."

The kids seemed surprised that this was part of the 'lesson,' but Gwen had an almost embarrassed look on her face.

_Maybe I shouldn't have done that,_ he told himself, recognizing the glare she gave him as the type of polite stare one might give another when supremely pissed off at them.

Gwen circled around him. "And that's why you gotta be smarter, faster, better at improvising. You need to anticipate his moves and know his defenses. Use them against him. Use your abilities, but know your own limitations – because he sure will."

Sam felt as though he was being scrutinized, as if she was preying on him, planning her attack. She circled him like a wide lasso, slowly tightening. He regretted his previous maneuver now that it seemed she was coming after him.

"Your greatest weapon," she began, the wide-eyed children watching her intently. Before she uttered another syllable, she threw her weight into her leg and roundhouse-kicked Sam in the side, sending him to his right. She then dropped to a squat and swept under his already-falling body, successfully kicking his legs out from underneath him.

Sam hit the grass with a barely-heard thud and watched Gwen turn back to the children. "Is surprise," she finished. She beamed happily at her success.

A few of the kids smiled as Sam grumbled and got to his feet. Though she had made her point, he saw her leg muscles twitch, as if she was about to roundhouse him again. He prepared to defend against the kick, but in what appeared to be an impossibly quick movement, Gwen snapped to face him, sending some force through her fist and into his face.

Sam stumbled backward but caught his balance. He thought he'd been a good enough sport and really didn't want to fight her. What was with this chick?

"Holding back, Winchester?" she teased, he fist coming at him again.

He dodged her punch and lunged past her. Before he realized what was happening, she had punched him in the side. Hard.

Sam squinted angrily and spun to face her, arms and fist held up defensively.

Gwen mirrored his stance and stepped closer. She faked right and swung a hard left cross. Sam ducked under it and when he bobbed back up, he was throwing an uppercut her direction.

Gwen blocked it and prepared to sweep his legs again. This time, Sam saw it coming and hopped over her leg. He backed up a step.

This sparring continued for another few minutes, each matching the other's blows and defenses, until Sam was starting to tire and breathe a little harder. But Gwen seemed like she was getting stronger and faster. It didn't make sense to him.

She finally landed a punch on his right ear, and he went down. He lay on the ground, staring up dizzily toward the sky.

Gwen moved into sight. "You alright?" she asked, hands on her hips and barely out of breath.

Sam sat up and raised his hand to his ear. When he brought it back down, he noticed the blood.

Surprised, Gwen squatted, grabbed his chin with one hand and turned his head so she could see the injury. "Sorry about that," she said smiling. "I was just trying to get your heart racing and get you all sweaty." She smiled coyly.

Sam gave her that polite but angry smile, despite the pain he felt from what he assumed to be a partially ruptured ear drum. _Is this how these people flirt?_

Gwen turned to the kids. "Go ahead and practice."

As the kids paired up and began sparring, Sam couldn't help but notice that some of them had barcodes on their necks.

_Suspicious._


	7. Soldiers and Monsters

Gwen swept her hair back, helped Sam up, and led him back to the makeshift med-day, where Mona had just washed her hands after stitching Drew's leg.

Zack had been in deep conversation with her and they seemed to be arguing about something. As Gwen and Sam approached, Sam heard what they were saying (out of his good ear).

"-just left him here for us to babysit," Zack said in a loud whisper.

"Who cares?" Mona asked, organizing their remaining medical supplies. "He's hot, and he and his brother could be useful."

"But they're not immune."

"We could make them," she argued, seeing Gwen and motioning for Zack to turn around.

Gwen spoke before Sam had a chance to open his mouth. "Mona, can you take a look at his ear?"

Mona took a couple of steps toward him. "What happened?" She stood on her tiptoes to try to see and pulled his head down toward her chest.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I hit him."

Zack laughed. "Naturally. He's here for ten minutes and you gotta get your licks in."

"I was only using him as an aide to teach the kids a few things about Ordin-" she paused, reconsidering her words. "About your common enemy."

"Smooth Gwen," Zack chided. "And now what good will he be if he can't hear the enemy approaching?"

"Yeah, Gwen, I'm inclined to agree with Zack. Why would you incapacitate him?" Mona turned back to her supplies. "I can clean that up, but you've got a ruptured drum in there." She returned with a small pad of gauze and a small bottle of antiseptic. She nearly pressed her body against his as she dabbed at his ear. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," Sam stammered. "But don't worry about it. I've had worse."

"Doubt it," Zack said, studying Sam with discreet speed, searching for any kind of scar that would indicate truth in his statement. He found no such scar.

"Had worse? That's just what a lady likes to hear," Mona said, trying to change the subject back to them.

A surprised expression washed over Sam. "That's not what I meant-"

"I don't see a lady," came the voice of another woman.

Sam turned his face to see this third person and discovered she looked a lot like Mona, except her eyes were shaded with dark purple flecks and seemed to draw his stare.

"Stupid clone rivalry," Zack mumbled after having seen the dumbfounded face Sam made. He trudged toward the group of sparring children.

"Mona, let the man breathe," she said.

Mona stepped back from him. "Mean, why you gotta season me?"

"This is Mina," Gwen said. "She and Mona are twinned."

_Twins_, he thought. _Cool._

"And before you go there, we don't team up for anything kinky," Mina said.

Sam wondered why she would say that. Even if he had thought it, he wouldn't have said it.

"Actually, we really can't stand each other," Mona said.

"Because you are always trying to screw anything with a Y chromosome."

"I can't help it. That's the way they made me." Mona threw her hands up in defense, as if horniness was genetic.

Sam assumed 'they' was the sisters' parents. He was about to join in and tell them that he and his brother didn't always get along, but before he could say anything, Mina threw in another zinger.

"They made us the same, but you take slutty to a whole new level. Honestly, preying on anything male with legs." Mina turned to Sam. "You're probably not even interested, are you?"

Her eyes entranced him again, and he found himself dumbstruck by their beauty. It seemed like she was reaching into his mind, sifting through his brain's files for something particular. He kept thinking about her eyes and how beautiful they were.

Mona grabbed Mina's face by the chin and broke her eye contact with Sam. "Don't do that," she said.

Mina looked away with some satisfaction. "Thanks for the compliment, Romeo, but I prefer Juliet."

Mona sighed and soaked the cotton swab in the antiseptic. She pulled Sam's head down by his neck and gently cleaned his wound. "It'll heal on its own," she said. "Though I don't know how long it'll take you." She placed the dirtied supplies in a plastic bag in the side of the jeep and turned back to Mina. "You're terrible."

Mina gave her an indignant look.

"So you two are brothers?" Mona asked, desperate to change the topic.

"Uh, yeah," he uttered, seemingly unsure of what they already knew. He tried to diffuse their argument. "I know how siblings can be."

"We're not sisters," Mina said. "Well, not really, but that's the closest thing to what we are."

"Which is?" Seriously, these two were playing games with his comprehension and he was beginning to get impatient.

"Twinned," Gwen said.

There was that word again. Twinned. Not sisters, but twins.

"Killing machines," Mina added. "Just what we were designed for."

Mona began packing up some loose items as Mina moseyed to the jeep and pulled a laptop from the front floorboard.

"Killing machines," he echoed. He didn't understand. They weren't hunters, he knew that much. They were militarized but they probably hadn't seen a ghost or demon prior to the virus outbreak. But they had to have seen some since, right?

"We were cooked up in a lab," Mina said, lifting the screen of the laptop up and beginning to type with one hand. "We were bred with certain strands of DNA – mostly human, and we were bred to fight."

"That's why some of us look like we're wearing costumes," Mona added, trying to lighten the conversation.

Sam took a deep breath and recalled some of the questions he'd had upon their arrival. How could any of them survive being bitten, which some of them clearly had been, and how could they be an army on their feet when they were constantly getting sliced up? Didn't they require some down time to heal? "I don't know what to say," he finally said. "How did you-"

Gwen interrupted. "We were part of a huge genetics experiment funded by a secret division of the government. The company that made us – Manticore – was the first in line to attempt cutting-edge technology. They practiced interspecies gene-splicing and genetic-mapping – in an effort to identify which genes made superior soldiers. Then they used that information to make us, but they made us to die."

Mona smiled, embarrassed, as if Gwen had just given away all of their sordid secrets. "They made us with some different abilities, some extraordinary abilities. Ultimately, though, they made us to fight with no regard to whether or not we would survive."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, trying to understand what these women were telling him.

"It means we didn't need your help out there today," Mina said, clicking the laptop's mouse pad a few times.

Sam frowned, wondering what he'd done to piss her off. She seemed bent on getting back at him for something. He turned to Gwen and asked, "You were in the military your whole life?"

"Yeah," Mona answered. "Some of us in specialty arenas – PsyOps, Statistics and Strategy, Computer and Information Technology, Desert Combat, et cetera. Like Mina, for example, was created with some specific ocular implants and genes, and trained in PsyOps, so she can sort of manipulate the truth out of you, or try to read your mind."

Sam whipped his head over to Mina. "That explains a few things," he said.

"We were trained in espionage, assassination, reconnaissance. You name it, we did it." Mona seemed to be talking them up, as if she had been told she was worthless and had spent the majority of her life trying to prove otherwise.

"But all of us trained to kill," Mina said, threateningly. "Not too far off from you and your brother, right?"

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, suddenly worried that she had pulled the laptop out to lay out his and Dean's history. Their arrest records and rap sheets would still be visible, but only with the right access codes and passwords, which any Manticore soldier trained in computers could hack.

And he didn't like her tone at all. She didn't have the right to prejudge them.

Mina brought the laptop to Sam and Gwen and turned it to face them. The screen reflected multiple open windows full of the strange and supernatural things he and Dean had done, which coincidentally looked like grave desecrations, arson, and murders.

Gwen frowned, staring at the screen. She took the laptop from Mina and perused the photos.

"We're not killing machines," Sam protested. "We're hunters."

Mina smiled cruelly. "I know," Mina said. "I just like to watch you squirm."

"You hunt supernatural things?" Gwen asked, paging through a few documents.

Sam wondered how deep the shit was that he seemed to have found himself wading in. "Yeah, we hunt demons, ghosts, shape shifters, things that aren't quite human."

"Mm hmm," Gwen mumbled. "You hunt anything that's not quite human…"

Realization dawned on him and he suddenly felt like such an ass. "Oh, no, not you. We wouldn't hunt you." He looked to the twinned soldiers and continued, "Unless you were running around killing people…" he stopped himself. "Sorry, I meant good people. Innocents."

Sam realized they had more in common than he thought. Very different circumstances, but very similar outcomes.

Mina and Mona, however, were not amused by Sam's accidental insults.

"Alright, let's go check on Krit," Gwen said, handing the laptop back to Mona. "Quick, before your foot goes too far into your mouth." She grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him toward the taller soldier who kind of looked like Max and appeared to be cleaning his weapons.

"Mobile in five!" Krit shouted to everyone.

Sam watched the man wipe the blood off of his multiple blades. His demeanor was as cool as the gray metal he cleaned. Sam looked for any signs that this guy was different. Not knowing what to expect made him feel paranoid and out of place. He didn't notice anything particularly different about Krit – no scars, no biotechnological parts or implants that he could discern, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Take a picture," Krit said sarcastically, turning his back to them as he replaced one of the blades into its sheath.

"Sorry," Sam said, immediately looking away, but catching a glimpse of the lines on his neck. "Wait, what about Dean and Max? Shouldn't we wait for them to get back?"

Krit turned back and laughed as if Sam spoke nonsense. "Max'll track us. But you're welcome to sit around here and wait." Krit slapped him on the shoulder and grabbed the arsenal.

"Don't worry about them," Gwen said. "Max and Zack have a rule for which direction they go, so if any of us get split up from the group, we know where to go to get back. She'll know."

Though all the information he'd just learned was uncommon and weird and seemed unreal, he still believed her. Maybe it was her eyes, too. Maybe she had some ocular implant or something that generated trust. He wasn't sure, but he knew they'd be fine. It was just a feeling.

Which is why he immediately pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dean's number.


	8. In the Rear View

Again, Dean kept quiet, thinking. Always thinking. He didn't want to push Max into her painful memories, but they seemed to have a direct or indirect connection to him and his life. _And how could the government geneticists know what I might have been capable of at such a young age? And why would someone want to clone me? I'm nothing special – just a hunter, a soldier with a grudge, a brother, and a weapon._

He figured it was insanity. Only insanely smart scientists with access to seemingly imaginary technology would attempt something so far outside the scope of real, tangible science. There seemed to be finesse to the idea; insanity required creativity.

Except having seen everything he'd seen, and fought everything he'd fought, he felt more inclined to believe at least in the existence of the concept. Sure, he had clones. Of course he did.

He let his hand fall from her small frame. Both remained quiet, and much like the majestic tree under which he had parked, Dean felt his feet sink into the gravel and dirt like those resilient roots, pushing down through the rough, sharp earth and making that new system a new home. It seemed as if, even though they were right in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, the universe was forcing him to take a breather and pay attention. Max was in a slight daze, and he was drawn to it.

_Maybe it's some kind of genetics,_ he thought, _the attraction to her face. Clearly she has some kind of past with my… clones… Jesus, that's so weird. Maybe they were drawn to her, too. Maybe it's across my genetics._

He tried to examine her expression again, tried to get that glimpse of truth that lay somewhere between her calm demeanor and the emotional turbulence below it. She was a bit of a paradox, and he figured not many people had the opportunity to see it. How could she have let them?

Max snapped out of her stare and swung off the trunk. "Better get back," she said. "And thanks for stitching me up."

Dean's heavy boots backed up and he felt their connection to the root system sever. "Wait, we need to cover that," he said, pointing to the laced mess of her stitching.

"The others could use it more than I could," she said, grabbing the backpack and walking around to the passenger's side of the Impala.

Dean climbed in to the driver's seat and started the ignition. He wanted to know so much more about this 'Manticore' company and how it fit into his life, or perhaps more accurately, how his life fit into it, but Max seemed like she was done sharing.

"So how many clones do I have?" he asked.

"Two that I knew of," she said matter-of-factly. She didn't want to lie to him, but she really didn't want to talk about this – not in detail.

Dean put the car in 'drive' and pulled back out onto the road, headed back to the field. He wondered if these clones shared his personality quirks or if they only looked like him. He wondered if they were better versions of him than he could ever be. "And how did you know them?"

Max pursed her lips and looked away.

Dean knew this maneuver. She didn't want to talk about it. Maybe she was too close to it and didn't have the energy to go much deeper.

"One was my unit mate, my brother. Ben."

His name may as well have been a machete, the way it sliced her to say his name, the way just the memory of Ben made her squeeze her eyes shut, as if she could just deny what happened right out of existence.

Dean paused, preparing to ask the question to which he already knew the answer. "And this Manticore place – they killed him."

Quiet again. That was enough of a confirmation for him. He understood this one, at least on some level. If anything had ever happened to Sam, he was certain he would lose his will to keep fighting. The only thing he valued more than anything else in his life was his own brother, and nothing could ever change that. Though he acted like a selfish brat from the moment his father ordered him to look after his little brother, his trust and dependence on his brother would always be underlying.

"And what about the other one? How did you know him? Was he in your unit, too?"

Max turned her head so she could look out the window and avoid any potential of Dean looking at her as she thought about him. How could she possibly describe what she and Alec were? Could she tell him about when she first met Alec all those days ago in her cell, when he was just a number, just an assassin? Or tell him how many times she'd bailed him out of trouble? Or tell him how connected she was to him? How alike they were?

Max remembered the look on Alec's face, the depth in his eyes, the last time she saw him – the last time, their goodbye. "No, Alec was just… well, he was Alec."

In the way she said his name, Dean realized something worse had happened to Alec. It hurt her more, somehow, and in the passenger's window reflection, he could see Max wasn't looking outside at all. Her eyes were closed and she was in the process of heaving a couple of big breaths. He wouldn't be able to push her any further. "Maybe you could tell me about them sometime," he offered.

Dean searched for the next thing to say, and drove faster to get back to Max's people. He glanced over to her and back to the road. "I never told anyone about that, so if you could just keep that information to yourself, I'd appreciate it."

"No problem," Max said. "Hopefully Alec's old unit and the others who knew him don't spill the beans before you get a chance to talk to your brother."

"Thanks."

Max shifted in her seat and turned toward him. "Why didn't you?"

"Tell anyone?" he asked. Dean checked his rearview mirror, then returned his attention to the road. "I tried, but at the time, Sammy was only four and our dad-" Dean paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Well, our dad didn't really give me a chance to explain why I'd left my little brother home alone for so long. He was pretty pissed."

"Where was your dad?"

"Huh?"

"Where was he? You were eight and your brother was four, and he left the two of you home alone?"

Dean looked in the rearview mirror again, which, when they passed a street lamp, illuminated the green in the hazel of his eyes. He returned his stare back to the road. "He was usually away on a hunt."

"On a hunt for shape shifters?" Max asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

"Sometimes," Dean said, turning onto another road. "Shape shifters, demons, vampires, ghosts, whatever he could find."

"But isn't that what you do?"

Dean smiled proudly. "Yeah, that's how it's kind of a family business."

"What was he looking for?" Max asked.

Dean flashed to the day he lost his mother. With the house engulfed in flames and his father passing Sam off to him, and with the knowledge that his mother was gone, he remembered feeling so helpless. "He was looking for the thing that killed our mother," he confessed, clenching his jaw shut after he said it.

Finally the hill came into view, and as they drove over it, neither Dean nor Max was prepared to see the stillness of the battlefield. All of the Croats they'd killed lay lifeless and in pieces, and otherwise, the field was empty.

"Where'd they go?" Dean asked, suddenly worried about Sam and wondering if the group of soldiers had invited some trouble they couldn't handle. They rolled to a stop in front of the track marks from the jeep.

Max looked up toward the sky, and then off into the distance. "Are those waves I hear?"


	9. What You Don't Know You Don't Know

Sam and the transgenics reached the motel strip after about thirty minutes' drive. Most of the cars they found already had keys in them, which made it easy to caravan. They kept to side streets mostly, considering the possibility that main streets would be better lit and consequently would give their positions away to any Croats that might be wandering about.

When the caravan pulled into the lot at the Surf Motel, Sam noted that it seemed dark and deserted, and sat a very short walk from the beach, which itself was also deserted. It would be only an hour or so before sundown.

Sam had bummed a ride with Gwen and the twinned Mina and Mona – begrudgingly in Mina's case. Dean hadn't answered his cell when Sam called, but that wasn't out of the outside of the norm, especially when there was a female present, and especially when that female was attractive. He'd left a message for Dean telling him where they were all headed and had since hoped that Dean and Max would be on their way back soon.

Mina parked the jeep, climbed out, and with an annoyed look to Sam, took off toward the rooms. Mona, Gwen and Sam all hopped out of the jeep. The ladies rummaged through their belongings to pull out their packs. Sam hung back, remembering that his bag was still in the Impala.

"So you basically go from place to place, killing Croatoans and staying at motels?" Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, drawing parallels between this group of hardened soldiers and himself and Dean. It seemed like this had been his life for so long and that college was just a memory of something to which he would never get back.

"Yeah, I guess," Gwen said, lifting the small duffel out of the jeep. "We're just trying to stay alive and help others if we happen across any, and help squash the viral threat."

"Plus have some semblance of a life somewhere in between," Mona added with a bit of a knowingly naughty smile, a look Sam missed. His attention was focused on Gwen. "See you guys later," Mona added, taking off in the opposite direction as Mina.

"Let me ask you a question," Sam began, holding his hands out in a gesture to help carry her duffel. "I understand why they can't stand each other, even if they keep saying they're not siblings, but why does Mina hate me?"

A smile spread on Gwen's face as she handed Sam her bag. "She's like that with everyone, I don't know. Most of us think she lost her tact and sense of humanity when her girlfriend crossed."

"Crossed?"

"Yeah, she went Croatoan." Gwen made a strange, scrunched face, and coupled with the gesture of squiggly lines near her face, it confused him.

Sam looked out to the ocean a moment and thought about Jess. When he was with her, he was as far away from this hunter's life as he could be, and she knew nothing of any of it. She was happy, and she was in love with him. He hadn't told her, but he was planning on being with her for a long time. And then Dean had showed up again after he promised he wouldn't, and Sam had been sucked back into the hunter life. Jess paid the price just for loving him, for being with him. He considered the idea of what he would have done if Jess had been bitten. He definitely didn't like the conclusion he came to. "That sucks," he finally said.

Gwen nodded. "Come on," she said, tilting her head in the direction of the motel stairs. "If we don't go up now, we might not get a middle room."

"What's so special about a middle room? Why wouldn't you want rooms on the end? Especially near the beach?"

"Ah, yes. One of our many common… enhancements," she revealed, tapping her ear. "Enhanced hearing."

"Super hearing. Cool." _Lame,_ Sam chided himself for sounding so dorky.

"Yeah, basically. Though I personally don't mind the ocean, some of the others can't always distinguish the crashing waves from someone breaking in or sneaking up behind them. It all gets jumbled together or hidden behind the surf. But it also drowns out all the other things I hear and I finally get to relax my brain."

"Ah. Well, Dean and I can take the end by the ocean," he offered. "You know, if no one wants it."

As they ascended the stairs, Gwen gave Sam her best sweet smile. It lit up her face and made her feel pretty. "The only person who could possibly want it is Max, and she's not here, so please, feel free."

Sam wondered why Max would want the end room. Wasn't she one of them?

At the landing, the pair stood at the end unit. "Where will you be?" he asked with some boyish charm.

"I think this one's open," she said, pointing to the room next to what would soon be Sam's.

Sam swung the bag forward and handed it to her. When he tried the knob at her door, it was locked. He fished the pocket knife from his pants and began to pick the lock, turning a few blades before one of them clicked and the door popped open.

"Impressive," Gwen complimented, taking her bag over the threshold and turning back to face him.

Zack approached them from another part of the upstairs walkway. "Hey, Winchester – can you give me a hand?"

Sam looked to Zack, back to Gwen, and returned to Zack. "Sure."

Zack headed for the stairs. "I need to grab some firewood. Some of us are doing a bonfire. You in?"

Sam glanced toward Gwen, who was smiling and nodding at him. "Absolutely," Sam said.

"Alright, come on."

"See you later," Sam called over his shoulder, following Zack out into the parking lot. Gwen watched his large frame descend the stairs before closing the door to the room.

Zack pulled some materials from the truck he and Krit had taken, and carried gasoline and matches out to the lobby/registration. "Need some wood to burn," he said, scanning the door. "Maybe some trash."

Sam found a stash of paper-wrapped logs meant for the in-room fireplaces and began loading his arms up. Zack also took as many as he could without dropping everything else.

"So you're a hunter, right? That's what you said?"

"Yep. Been hunting for a couple of years with my brother." Again, Sam flashed to the day their dad had told him he should stay gone if he was planning on leaving. If he knew that Dean was going to pull his little brother from the dream life he was working up to, would he have disappeared?

"I don't mean any disrespect, but you guys don't really look like stereotypical hunters."

Sam was taken aback. Though he was carrying two armfuls of logs, he defensively tried to look at his attire. "What does a stereotypical hunter look like?"

"That's not what I meant. I meant you don't exactly look equipped for hunting the Serengeti." This conversation was not going the way Zack had planned. He restrained a laugh and waited for Sam's response.

Sam walked alongside Zack, again, taken aback by Zack's apparent lack of information regarding what it meant to be a hunter.

"Where are your weapons and traps?"

_Okay, he doesn't know what we hunt_, Sam reasoned. "We hunt the supernaturally evil," he said plainly, as if it was common knowledge. "Some of them take traps, and some take weapons. Some arsenal we keep, some we borrow, and some get destroyed when we use 'em. But they all work against the evil shit that's out there."

"Like half-breeds?" Zack asked, thinking of the 'nomalies.

Having already received this third degree, and starting to feel like Zack was heading down the same path, Sam intercepted Zack's line of thought. "No, we wouldn't hunt you," he started. "More like vampires, ghosts, demons – things like that." He figured it would be easier to explain if he had his laptop, but that was also in the Impala with Dean.

Zack nodded and they began walking out toward the beach. On the way, Zack found a tipped-over trashcan. He dumped a few logs into it and continued onto the sand.

"So why are we making a bonfire?" Sam began, unsure if he should really question Zack. "Isn't the light of the fire and the smoke and everything going to draw them all here? The infected?"

"It might. But our prelim reports show less activity nearer the outskirts and away from the main cities. They're sort of nomadic."

Zack's answer inspired little confidence in Sam.

"And they hate water," he added. "Besides, we can hear 'em."

"I can't," he pointed out.

"Then just stick around."

* * *

After a few trips between the bonfire site and the motel registration, Sam and Zack were just about ready to light it up, but something was bugging Sam.

"Hey, isn't it getting late? Where are Max and Dean?"

Zack produced a knowing smile. "I kind of have a feeling they may not be back that soon."

"Why not?" Sam asked, adjusting a few logs to cross over each other.

"You don't know?"

Sam pressed his lips together in frustration. What is with these people? Did they always have to be so vague? "No, whatever it is you're about to say, I have no idea."

"Your brother bears a striking resemblance to someone Max used to know." Zack paused, seemingly for the sole purpose of letting time pass – either for dramatic effect or to let Sam catch up to the information.

"What, like an old boyfriend or something?"

"Sort of," he said. He seemed bothered by it.

He had a look on his face Sam couldn't decipher. He wasn't sure if it was jealousy or protectiveness. Walking back toward the motel, Sam pushed for more information. "Look, he's my brother, so if he's in any danger, I gotta know."

A hearty chuckle escaped Zack. He turned, stopping in place. "Max and Alec – they kind of had this love-hate vibe going on. Except they never got to the love part, because if it was going to happen, it got interrupted by the Croatoan apocalypse."

Sam figured the idea that someone else, other than a demon possession, could be walking around with Jessica's face and maybe body, well, it just seemed insane. Unless they were somehow related. "So you think she's substituting my brother for this 'Alex' guy?"

"That's what everyone is worried about," Zack said.

_Finally, an honest and straightforward answer_, thought Sam.

"But let me guess, Dean's not that kind of guy," Zack continued.

With a stifled and humorous hesitation, Sam said, "Yeah he is."


	10. Burgeoning Flames

"I don't hear anything," Dean said, straining to discern waves out of all the sounds.

Max pointed at her ear. "You wouldn't."

Awesome. I'm useless, Dean thought, looking around.

"Maybe about twenty-five miles," she estimated.

Dean watched her face with surprise. "Seriously? You can hear twenty-five miles away?"

Max let his question linger for a moment, and then broke into a smile. "No, but I can read that freeway sign," she pointed.

He could appreciate the cleverness of it all. Plus, it'd be his first real taste of polite Max Sarcasm. "Well, let's get going."

Max pressed her fingertips to her stitches and checked her hand, then returned her fingertips to the wound.

"Is it bothering you?"

"No, just itchy," she said.

Already? Dean wondered. How fast does she heal?

"We don't really retain scars for very long," she added. Like my heart transplant, she thought.

_These supersoldiers are ridiculously genetically equipped._ "What other superpowers do you have?"

_Like I'm a mutant_, she thought. "Can't fly. Can't see through metal. No laser eyes or gadgety arms – though bio-tech was practiced on other series."

"So no lasso of truth?" Dean joked, guessing by her tone that she was near fed-up with his questions, and smirking at the imagery of the soldier before him in costume.

"What's a 'lasso of truth'?"

* * *

With the flames just starting and most of the transgenics sitting out by the bonfire, Sam was beginning to exercise his imagination in worry for Dean.

_Maybe they've gotten lost. Or killed. But probably not killed. Maybe they have their own ideas about where they'll spend the night. Or maybe, Max isn't as good a tracker as Gwen said. Maybe they've been attacked by something supernatural. A ghost or a demon or a chupacabre._

"What's a chupacabre?" asked Mina from across the bonfire.

Sam's eyes widened as some of the heat and smoke blew toward him, causing him to squint from the sting. "Uh, nothing." He tried not to actively wish she didn't read his mind.

"I know. It's invasive," she said. "Just wanted to make sure nothing was following you here.

Sam felt immediately on the defensive. How could he lead anyone here, especially on his own?

"We'd be like sitting ducks," she said, continuing to dance with the firelight. Before Sam could protest, she continued. "You seem trustworthy. Just had to know for sure."

"I still don't know about you," he said. "How do I know I can trust you if I can't just go in your mind and see it myself?"

After a moment, Mina responded. "They'll be fine. Max knows what she's doing." Mina danced over to a couple of transgenics and butted out.

Walking away from the fire toward the rooms, he pulled his cell out to check for messages. None. He called Dean again, but before the first ring, he saw them.

Croats. Headed his way.

Dean's cell went straight to voicemail, and as Sam turned to run back to the beach, he screamed into the receiver. "Dean! Get back here! Croats are attacking!"

Of course, a very tall man running toward you is always alarming enough, but one that's also yelling bloody Croatoan murder kicked all the soldiers into high gear.

* * *

One of Metallica's softer jams played over the radio as Dean and Max made their way toward the caravan.

"Don't you have anything else?" Max asked. Though she appreciated the respite a ballad provided, she'd already recouped her energy and now seemed, well, bored.

Dean cocked half a grin, thinking '_Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts their cakehole_.' "Got a few tapes in the glove box."

"Tapes? Really?" Max pulled the lever on the glove box and tried to sort the small box.

Dean smiled. Max dropped the subject and stowed the cassettes back in the glove box. She pressed at her inflamed skin and looked to her wound in the visor mirror. "Looks pretty good. How'd you learn to do this?"

Dean remembered many times he'd had to stitch himself up. In all the years he'd hunted alone while Sam was off at college. There were only a few places on his own body which hadn't seen a needle, and some of them were left unattended because he couldn't reach them himself.

And of course when Sam came back, they'd spent some time stitching one another back up after a few particularly difficult jobs. He never had to stitch up his dad, though.

"I've had practice," he finally answered. "And maybe a natural ability."

_Confident_, thought Max._ Just like Alec._ "I might need you to take these out tomorrow, if we get a chance."

"Already?"

Max pressed her lips in a thin smile. "Transgenic," she reminded. "Can't help it."

Dean glanced at her wound and back to the road. He imagined, having seen two injuries on her so far, how her scars would fade and if she had any others standing out on her smooth skin. He licked his lips unconsciously.

Max had seen all of it but had said nothing. She didn't even shift uncomfortably or cross her arms. Surprisingly, she turned her body toward him. "So what's your story? You got someone you left behind?" she probed. "Or a trail of someones?"

Partly surprised, he smiled. "What makes you think that?"

Max watched the way his lip curved up. "Just a hunch," she said. Alec loved women, and they all seemed drawn to him – maybe against their better judgment. He'd tomcatted around quite a bit, and some familiar twinkle in Dean's eye drudged up that rush of blood in her. She blushed, but refused to look away.

Dean's smile faded. "Um, not really. Been fighting for our lives for a long time, and the past eight months have really taken a toll on the female populace. And the mood." He looked to her with too-long of a stare, and she smiled. She had to look away. "You?" he tagged on.

She thought back to Alec's smiling face, the same smile invading her memories at his crazy innuendoes. "No. Same thing – not many men around, and not really mood-inducing situations."

"Your… what do you call them? Platoon?"

"Unit."

"There are plenty of guys in you unit," he said. _Lame_, he added, chastising himself.

Max adjusted her braid over one shoulder. "They're more like brothers," she said, thinking of Zack, Krit and Drew first. Not once had she harbored romantic or sexual thoughts about any of them. "Besides that, the guys outnumber us two to one, and after what happened with Gabe and Leia a few months ago, no one wants to lose another soldier to a mate fight."

Dean raised a brow. "Is that what it sounds like?"

"Not a fight between mates – a fight for a mate."

Okay, now he was having trouble again. "Mates?"

Max sighed, dreading the explanation of exactly what was in each individual's DNA cocktail, let alone her own. "Remember how I said Manticore mixed your DNA with animal DNA?"

Dean nodded.

Max tried to choose her words carefully. "Well, some animals are extremely territorial. Some species fight for a mate, some breathe underwater, some are capable of regenerating body parts, and some can pick up faint scents like drug-sniffing dogs. You get the point."

"And this Manticore place wanted this to happen?"

"No. It was a side effect they hadn't considered when they spliced the genes."

"So Gabe and Leia?" he recalled.

"Among other animals, a lot of us have feline DNA mixed in our cocktails. Speed, agility, ocular enhancement, all came with a few side effects." Max frowned. In all of her heat dreams, she'd only dreamt of Logan, or Rafer, or whatever random Joe she'd seen during her waking hours. She'd never had a heat dream about Alec.

They'd stopped trying to figure it out a long time ago – why her heats had stopped. The only thing she had to go on was how the heats had suddenly stopped after the snake venom, and the virus had broken out a few weeks after and had started claiming lives.

And she missed Logan. It was a miracle he was still alive, but with two viruses threatening his life, the cyber-journalist had gone underground, and had enlisted a group of Manticore and government soldiers, as well as scientists and experts, to help curb the Croatoan virus and try to create some order to the state of, well, living.

He had begged her to stay, but how could she have? With her immunities, she felt a responsibility to try to protect those who didn't share those immunities. And with his lack of immunities, particularly, his lack of immunity to her, how could she have stayed?

Dean saw her eyes flit over the road and off into the distance. "So you've got cat DNA?" he asked, a small smile crooking up on one side of his face.

She could almost hear the innuendo. "One 'pussy' joke and I'm jumping out of this car and leaving you to fend for yourself!" She smiled.

"What?" Dean asked, watching the way her eyes moved. He was having a difficult time holding back his words. "I didn't say anything."

"Uh huh."

"I do have one question, though."

_Please don't let it be about heat_, she thought. "Seriously?"

He looked over to her. "So you're really fast?"

Something in his voice suggested innuendo and Max felt the urge to smack him upside the head. Maybe Alec did get some of this from Dean. It felt good – to feel that urge again. Almost made her feel like he was still here.

"Not like that, you perv," he said, laughing. "Like you run really fast? And you can change directions on a dime?"

Max allowed the question, answering him warily. "Yeah – Brain called it 'blurring.' We run so fast it looks like a blur to Ordinaries."

Only his partial glance toward her informed her of his slight offense at her metonymous use of 'ordinary.' "And the ocular thing?"

"We can see pretty good in the dark, which makes us pretty good hunters."

Dean found himself smugly thinking he was already a damn good hunter, even without Max's special abilities. He'd survived this long. He decided to brush it off, that smirky grin positioning itself back on his mouth. "Do you sometimes get the urge to curl up on a windowsill and take a nice long nap?"

Max's eyes widened and she broke into a smile. "Okay, I'll let you have one. Just one."

"I should have picked a better one," he said, keeping her eye contact a little longer.

"Are you both like this?" Max asked, wondering if the genetics question reached further than Dean.

"What? Witty and charming and hysterical?"

Max half-laughed, half-scoffed. "Yeah."

He checked the rear-view mirror and returned his eyes to the road. "Of course. Winchester traits. Even Sammy has his moments."

* * *

"Gwen! Zack! Get your asses in gear!" Sam shouted from across the fire.

He'd been holding two particularly strong Croats at bay with a large piece of driftwood, but he couldn't hold out forever without a real weapon. It took most of his concentration to keep one step ahead of them as it was.

Within moments, Gwen was at his side. "I got an idea."

"Now's the time!" Sam said, elbowing one of the two Croats in the face, sending him backward.

"Herd them," she said.

Sam played the scenario in his head as he swung the driftwood like a baseball bat and heard a mild crack, followed by splintering wood. _Herd them where_? he thought, looking down at his 'bat,' now splintered into various pieces. "Shit!"

Gwen spun forcefully, bringing her machete around and slicing clean through the other Croat's neck. "Toward the bonfire," she added as if reading his thoughts.

He liked this idea a lot. "You wanna barbecue 'em," he said.

"If the fire takes them, the virus'll burn out," she said, looking to Zack, the nearest transgenic to her, to see if he needed help. "Zack?! You in the mood for a candlelight dinner?"

Zack swiped at a short Croat, knocking her down, and turned back to Gwen. With some sarcasm, he said, "Yeah, but we gotta do something about the lighting in this restaurant. There's no zombiance!"

"Ah, very pun-ny," he heard Gwen respond.

Zack relayed the plan to the other transgenics, and slowly, the soldiers and Sam circled around the bonfire, and one by one fought the Croats into the flames. Heaped atop one another, some burning alive and turning to ash before their eyes, and some catching fire and trying to make it outside the circle, the Croats were slowly beat back.

When it was evident no more Croats would be stumbling out of the fire, Zack tasked Mona with field med.

"Where's Mina?" Gwen called.

"'Round here somewhere," Mona said, running through the sand back to the motel. She needed to grab her med kit.

Krit and a hobbling Drew dragged the beaten, bloodied, and lifeless body of Leo, an X5 from one of the east coast's Manticore facilities, toward the fire.

"No," Zack said. "Our own get burial at sea." He pointed to a small heap of transgenics near the surf, but his eyes were glued behind Sam.

Sam turned to see what held Zack so rapt, and took a deep breath as another large group of people stepped onto the beach. They looked a lot like the soldiers he was with, and just past the sand in the parking lot, he could see a few more of them unloading bodies from the back of a pickup. "Friends of yours?"

Zack pursed his lips. "Not exactly."


	11. Exigencies

They'd been driving for just a few miles when Dean frowned, staring momentarily at his fuel gauge, which was dipping into 'E' territory. "Shit."

Max leaned to peer over his arm. She knew that tone. It meant 'Time to get a car with more gas.'

"Keep your eyes peeled," he said.

"For what? A place to stay the night, or another car?"

Dean decided against both falling into innuendo at her 'place to stay the night,' and screeching to a halt. "Are you fucking insane? There is no other car."

She started to laugh at his outburst, but straightened her expression right away. "I get it. This is your baby." She thought about her Ninja. It was part of the reason they'd left the group in the Impala.

"I've had her for a long time. I take good care of her; she takes good care of me." _Kinda like a good woman_, he added mentally.

"Exactly. So we're looking for gas."

Dean nodded.

"Hey, let me know if you see an auto parts store. I need some oil, too."

Dean raised a brow, silently questioning what she knew about engines.

"I got a baby, too." She smiled.

* * *

Constructed from some of the decorative surfboards from the motel rooms, and banded together with leftover rope and torn-up bed sheets, the makeshift raft rested near the shore, transgenic after transgenic piling on their fallen comrades in preparation for the mass burial at sea. Palm fronds and shrubs littered the stack from the top of the heap down to just above the second layer of bodies.

Sam had insisted he help, and after some guffaw, Zack acquired a pair of gloves. 'Protection,' he had said. He was certain he had no cuts or open wounds on his hands, which was a relief since the gloves had soaked through with blood in a matter of minutes.

After the beach battle, conveniently (in Sam's opinion), more transgenics and transhumans showed up with two truck beds' full of dead soldiers. Zack and Krit had taken lead in going to intercept them. Krit shook the hand of the apparent CO of this unit, Tony, a tall, lean transhuman (he'd heard one of them grumble). Looked a little bit like a cheetah, his orange, spotted skin aglow in the eerie moonlight.

It had taken only a few minutes for Zack and Krit to vet the surprise newcomers, and then everyone had set to work with the raft and the dead. Despite the bloodiness of the corpses, the many hands made quick work of building the raft and carrying the dead onto it.

Which brought them all to the present. Standing in small groups at the shore and watching as sixteen soldiers, including Zack, Krit, Tony, Drew and Gwen, pushed the raft into the water, both sets of armies were silent. They swam the rafter over the smaller waves, and then finally over the bigger, cresting wave, each assured they wouldn't lose a soldier to the crush since they'd tied them all down.

Sam stared out at the raft and felt a palpable sense of loss as the shrubs and twigs and leaves were all set on fire with storm-proof matches.

Confident the flames would grow until their comrades were consumed, Tony led the soldiers back to shore. Without a word, Tony passed the crowds and headed toward his truck.

He figured they must be freezing, but none showed signs of it. When Gwen came into view, soaked from her duty to her unit mates, Sam felt the chill of the air nip at his arms as he removed his coat and offered it to her.

"Thanks," she said, pulling it around her smaller frame.

He fell in step next to her.

"Just gotta change before we leave."

"Leave?" he asked. "What about staying the night here? What happened to waiting for Dean and Max?"

"Mobile in five," Zack shouted, passing them on the way to his own room.

"Tony said there's a commercial spot with a couple dozen rooms above it just a few miles in, and it has a working couple of generators. So we get to cook, and heat, do laundry if we want. Whatever we want," she paused, looking to Sam. She started up the stairs. "Just gotta get outta these wet clothes."

Climbing up after her, Sam missed the slight undertones of her voice.

* * *

It was getting later and the sky grayer. Dean rolled the window down an inch to see if he could smell any proof of his suspicion. The sight of which tickled Max.

He wedged his nose closer to the crack and took a whiff.

"What are you doing?"

Satisfied, he sat back, rolled up the window, and said matter-of-factly, "It's gonna rain."

"Oh, thank you Nostradamus," she joked.

Sounded like something Sam might say, he thought. "Which reminds me!" he said aloud, completely missing the look she was giving him. Pulling the cell phone from his pocket, Dean plugged it into the adapter Sam had long-ago stuck in his cigarette lighter, and heard it buzz to life.

"Your phone?"

"Yep." He glanced at the screen and almost panicked when he saw the missed calls from Sam. He listened to the message, watching Max's eyes. He could tell she could hear Sam's message.

"Shit," they said simultaneously.

Dean tried calling him back, but it went straight to voicemail.

Like a bat out of hell, the Impala roared down the freeway, Dean's foot holding down the accelerator.

* * *

Stepping into the room for the first time, Sam took in the ambiance. Dark. No working power, but shielded from the delta breeze. He pulled his pone out of his pocket and opened his flashlight app. As the beam illuminated bits of the room, he saw the king size bed, the fireplace stocked with three logs, and the small bathroom. Before he could shine the light further, the light went out. He checked the screen.

No battery.

Something about this situation was bugging him. Zack and the others were so tight-lipped about everything, and hadn't he hard them complaining that he and his brother weren't immune but that they could somehow make them? If that was even remotely possible, why hadn't they done it already?

Sam settled himself on the bed and put his phone away. He stared at the sliding glass doors leading out to the balcony, the dark curtains closing off his vision from the ocean.

_Croats hate water._ Trying to remember and compile the facts, Sam considered that maybe the reason they weren't often found near water was because the virus filled them with an insatiable need for aggressive and violent cannibalism. But maybe the transgenics knew something about the virus they didn't – like maybe drowning a Croat kills it, or some molecule in saltwater reacts to something in the Croatoan virus that incapacitates or kills them.

_And where the hell are Dean and Max?_ If Sam decided to keep going with the band of transgenics, there was a chance he might not reconnect with his brother.

A knock came at his door, and Sam stood to make his way to it, still not sure if he wanted to keep going without Dean. Surely he'd be safer if he stayed with the group, right? He swung the door open and came face to face with Gwen. She'd changed into some dry clothes and held his jacket draped over her hands. He noticed she hadn't brought her bag.

"Ready to go?" he asked, glancing past her to the parking lot where everyone else was packing up their vehicles.

Gwen smiled demurely. "I was thinking we could wait her for Max and your brother. I told Zack to go without us."

Brows lifting in surprise, Sam gave a nervous smile. "Would we be safer with the group?"

Gwen took a step forward, causing him to take a reactionary step backward, as if to make room for her to come in. "We'll be fine," she said, passing him. She allowed her arm to brush against his. "Oh, good, you have firewood."

Sam turned in, closing the door.

* * *

Turning into the lot at the Surf Motel, Dean parked as quick as he could, and before he could reach for his door handle, Max was halfway to the sand. He watched her for a few seconds. Yep, it looked like blurring alright. But where was she going in such a hurry? The only presence in the lot was abandoned cars, and no one was on the beach.

He climbed out of his car and jogged after her, wondering exactly where she was going, until he saw the flames heading toward the horizon.

Max stood still, a few feet from the shore, staring out at the fire.

It was the sickest she'd ever felt her entirely genetically-engineered life. She witnessed their goodbyes – the soldiers'.

_The people._

_Dead people._

_Dead because of me, _she attempted to reason. _Because I opened the gates and ran away and never thought about how it would be for them to live out here. Damn it. I should have been here._

Dean stood, silent next to her, hands folded in front of him. He recognized the scene. He knew it all too well.

Max only stood there one more minute, staring helplessly at the seaward inferno. She knew the fire would reach the bodies at the bottom soon enough, and they'd sink to their final resting places. She wondered if they'd all get the peace they deserved before the rain came.

Without tearing her eyes from the encroaching tides, and ignoring the rain clouds in her peripheral threatening to wash away everything that had happened, Max spoke. "Couple of cars in the lot."

Dean nodded. "And some fresh tracks. Think they left us any gas?"

Max took a deep breath. "Let's go find out." She turned back toward the motel and headed for the lot.

Dean pulled the hoses from his trunk, as well as two plastic red gas cans. Normally, he and Sam would go about siphoning gas during the day, when visibility was better and consequently, they were better able to see approaching threats, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Handing Max a hose and can, Dean said, "Sorry about your unit. Let's hope our brothers both made it."

Accepting the items, Max turned toward the ugliest, rustiest car in the lot.

He could appreciate her logic. Least likely to be driven vehicle – unattractive exterior, easy-to-open gas cap. He nodded as she set the can down and popped open the lid to the gas tank.

Finding a mid-size sedan not too far from Max, Dean popped the lid to the gas tank and unscrewed the cap. He let it dangle by the side as he fitted the hose into the hole, unscrewed the cap on the red plastic can, and dropped to a squat, facing Max.

The sight of her nearly made him lose his balance. She had also squatted, and was mid-work with her lips around the tube, her cheeks sucked in partially.

As if she could feel his spying eyes, she looked up at that very second.

Dean met her gaze, and as she watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, the gasoline found its way to the top of the tube. Some of it spurted at Max's mouth, and in the split second timing, she plunged the tube into the plastic can and waited, bringing up the wrist of her other hand to wipe the gas from her chin.

_Jesus._ Dean found he was unable to look away, but extremely turned on by what he witnessed. When she licked her lips, he felt a twitch in his lower extremities and shifted in the squat. She didn't look away. In fact, she gave him a wicked smile.

"You gonna make me do this all by myself?" she teased.

Dean felt the blood pumping through his veins and smiled. He went to work on collecting gas from the white sedan, looking back up at her occasionally to see if she was still flirting with him.

Max moved to another vehicle close to the rust-bucket and pried open the lid of the gas tank.

Once he had siphoned all he could from the sedan, Dean moved to a truck across the lot from Max. With the taste of gasoline coating his gums, he looked up at the clouds. Harbingers of the storm.

And just as he thought it, he felt the first few drops on his forehead and scalp. Then a few more, closer together and bigger. Then came the downpour. He closed his fingers around the hose in the can and protected the can from collecting water. He waited until no more gasoline was spilling from the tube before recapping the can and standing up.

Across the lot, he could see Max doing the same. She turned toward him, and he caught movement behind her.

Instinctually, he reached for his knife, dropped the gas supplies, and ran toward her.

The Croat had snuck up behind Max and tried to attack her, but she used its weight against it, flipping it over her body and onto the gravelly asphalt. The Croat got to its feet quickly, and as Dean reached the tussle, the Croat tackled Max, grabbing her by the legs and causing her to fall backwards onto the harsh, jagged ground.

Dean prepared to swipe the Croat with his knife, but as he swung, the Croat jerked backward, simultaneously resulting in head-butting Dean, and Dean's blade piercing the Croat's side. Dean fell backward and scrambled to his feet as the Croat growled, rasping.

Max held her hand out to Dean to help him to his feet. Producing her own blade, she turned to face the Croat, throwing a blade-bearing right cross toward the Croat's face. The serrated edges of the knife sliced a superficial cut to the Croat's face, moving through its nose cartilage like a hot knife through butter.

Though it stunned him a moment, the Croat pulled Dean's blade from its side and tried to use it on Max, lunging forward. Max caught the Croat's arm between her arm and torso. The blade clinked to the ground, and as Dean bent to grab it, the Croat surprised Max with an uppercut which sent her sailing over Dean's crouched form.

Knife in hand, he turned to see her land. It seemed to knock the wind out of her.

Boots crunching on gravel alerted him that he was next on the Croat's list, but he was prepared. He spun and tried to stab the Croat at the neck, but the Croat blocked his arm's movements, and before he knew it, the Croat was latched onto his shoulder.

Anger infused with his blood as he switched the blade to his left hand and slammed it haphazardly into the Croat's skull. Immediately, its jaw slackened and the body crumpled to the ground.

Dean turned back to Max, who was sitting up, and a flurry of realizations hit him. "I've been bit!" he cried. Desperate panic replaced the anger as he tried to feel his shoulder to see if the Croat had broken skin.

Max got to her feet quickly.

_Is this it? Is this how Dean Winchester goes out? By a fricken Croat bite?!_

"I don't know if it broke skin!" he shouted.

Post-haste, Max pulled his jacket off, tossed it over the hood of the nearest car, and began to pull at his over shirt when Dean finally realized what she was doing and started to help. After the button-up shirt was off, he pulled his tee-shirt up by the bottom hem while Max pushed the material up his chest.

Finally at bare-skin level, Dean checked his shoulder, and Max stood on her tip toes to see the possible wound, pressing at it with her fingertips.

As the rain poured more on his skin, it was clearer and clearer that the Croat had not broken skin.

"You're fine," she said. "No holes, you're okay!"

Out of breath from the adrenaline, Dean tried to calm himself down.

But Max was giving him that same look she'd given him from across the lot. She took in the sight before her, his naked chest heaving from the adrenaline, the rain making tiny rivulets down the contours of his shoulders, chest, and arms. She dragged her fingertips down to his tattoo and caressed it gently.

When she looked up to him and he saw her pupils dilate, the adrenaline rush returned.

"What's this?" she asked, sweeping her fingertips smoothly over his tattoo. But by the look on her face, Dean would have guessed she was really asking how it tasted.

"Protection tattoo," he said, his hand hovering over hers at the sun-shaped mark on his chest.

She smiled that wicked, sexy smile. "Oh, so you have protection," she trailed in a low, sultry voice. She stepped forward and pressed her lips to his, tilting her head in a sudden rush to taste him.

Dean pulled her against him, tiled his head, and parted his lips, allowing her access to his mouth.

She took advantage of it, jutting her tongue against his. She didn't care they both tasted like a bit of gasoline; she was horny, and judging by the way he grasped her and kissed her, she could tell he was in the same boat.

She broke away from him, naughty images racing through her mind, in a mad rush to figure out where they were going to go. Not the care – too much exposure to possible Croats. She looked back toward the motel. As she craned her neck, Dean bent to kiss it, tonguing just below her ear.

Max's eyes rolled back. The upstairs room on the end. Croats were usually ground-bound and didn't climb. Plus, she liked the end rooms. "Come on," she said, wrestling free of his grasp, but grabbing his hand as she rushed them up the stairs.

Trying the handle, Max smiled as the knob twisted and the door swung open with no resistance. Dean followed her into the darkness and as she shut the door, he pulled her top up, discarding it to the floor and pressing her against the entry wall. He kissed hurriedly down her neck, avoiding her stitched wound, and followed a lazy path to the soft parts between her breasts.

Wrapping both hands around her rib cage, he felt her hands raking his scalp, urging him on. She arched her back, a move which allowed him better access to… _everything_, she realized. She reached back to unhook her bra, just as Dean used his chin to push the cup of her bra down on one side, exposing the tight bundle of nerves atop her breast.

She hoped and knew his intention, but before he could close his mouth around her, they heard a voice. Two voices, actually.

"Dean?"

"Max?"

Startled, the twosome separated, Max turning to re-hook her bra. Dean turned toward the voices.

Not ten feet from where they had been on the fast track to Naked Happy Town, laid Sam and Gwen. Under the covers.

"Sammy!?" he asked, surprised, and now, frustrated.


	12. Interrupted

Dean, unable to cover himself since his shirts were outside in a soggy pile atop some old car, said, "Not that I'm not thrilled you're not one giant sasquatch on top of that floating inferno, Sammy, but what the hell are you doing here?"

Sam sat up, and to Dean's pleasant surprise, was clothed. "Apparently, not what you're doing here!"

"Spare me the bullshit, Sam. Why aren't you with the group?"

Sam stood and towered over him. "Oh, so it's okay for you to run around on your own but not me?"

"I wasn't alone," Dean countered.

"Neither was I," Sam stammered.

Gwen waved, embarrassed. She had already climbed out of the bed, and quickly, she grabbed Max's shirt and handed it to her, eager to avoid the brothers' awkward conversation.

"I gotta grab my clothes," Dean said, his attitude demanding a wide berth in the entryway.

Sam followed him outside as the women hung back.

Bounding down the stairs and toward the car on which they'd littered his clothes, Dean saw the dead Croat and chastised himself for leaving his weapon in it. As soon as he pulled on the wet tee and over shirt, he bent down to steal his blade back from the dead Croat's skull. It made a slick noise on its exit. He made sure to wipe the blood right on the dead Croat's clothes before sheathing it and turning back to Sam. Sam, having witnessed the whole thing, had a sarcastic smirk plastered to his face.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing," he said, feigning like he had nothing to say. "Just… skulling a Croat always makes me super horny, too." He laughed.

Dean cracked a smile. _Okay, I'll give him one. _"All right, Romeo. What about you and Xena? I leave you for one day, and despite the fact that we just caught you in bed together, you were fully clothed! Have I taught you nothing?"

Sam blushed slightly. "Actually, we were just trying to keep warm while we waited for you."

"Wake up, Sammy. That girl is into you. Just say the word and Max and I can give you two some privacy."

Sam rolled his eyes and begrudgingly smiled at his brother. "Right, and that would have nothing to do with you and Max having some 'privacy' of your own."

Slipping his coat on, Dean walked to his car, fished the keys from his pocket, and popped open the trunk.

"Wait, you also think she looks like Xena?"

Dean took out his bag. "Is that all you think about?" Dean joked. "I gotta get changed. While I do that, why don't you grab those cans," he said, pointing to the cans he and Max had filled, "and gas up my baby?"

* * *

With her shirt back in place, Max sat at the foot of the bed and watched Gwen's nervous pacing. "You okay?"

Gwen looked up. "Yeah, I just…" she looked away, then back to Max, a guilty smile on her face. "I just really like 'em built like that."

A small smile began to spread on Max's face, too – a knowing smile. "Sorry I salted your game."

Gwen stopped pacing. "It's okay. You didn't know I was here."

Max laughed, only slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry for the peep show." Sure they were soldiers; ate, showered and fought together, some slept together, but Max never got naked around her unit mates.

Gwen stood still for a moment, a pregnant pause permeating the room.

Hoping she wouldn't bring it up – the elephant in the room – Max pressed at her wound, praying to the Blue Lady that Gwen would get distracted by it and not ask the burning question undoubtedly on everyone's minds.

"Max, what are you doing?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

Max stood. _No such luck._ "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's just, he looks _just_ like Al-"

"Alec, I know."

"Well, why? Why does he look just like Alec?"

Max took a deep breath. This was not the follow-up question she expected. "Look, Gwen, you gotta keep the secret if I tell you anything."

Gwen shrugged. "Who am I gonna tell?"

"No, seriously." She stared hard at the taller brunette.

"Okay, I promise."

Max pursed her lips, biting the inside of her cheek. "He was the donor."

"What!?" Gwen exclaimed. "How? It's not possible. He's way too young to have been a donor!"

"They kidnapped him when he was younger. Took his DNA."

Face twisted in disgust, Gwen's eyes widened. "Ew!"

"Not like that," Max offered. "At least, I don't think like that."

Gwen remained quiet as questions flooded her mind. _Why did Alec get a child donor when all the rest of us were sperm and egg surrogated? Is that why Alec excelled at hand-to-hand? Because his donor was a hunter? That doesn't make sense. He wasn't a hunter as a kid, right? _Eventually, she asked, "What's so special about Dean?"

Max smiled, recognizing the curious cat inside her X5 counterpart. "Don't know. He's got good instincts, some mad skills with a blade, plus, he's easy on the eyes."

Gwen laughed. "I think you mean 'easy on Max's panties-'"

Max smacked her on the arm.

Gwen bit her bottom lip excitedly. "What about Sam?"

"Don't know," Max repeated. "Dean didn't mention anything. Just that Sam doesn't know, and can't. And no one else can either."

"Okay," Gwen said. "You have my silence."

Her promise gave Max relief. "So you and Sam, huh?" Max asked.

Gwen's lips moved into a wide smile. "Maybe. We definitely weren't moving as fast as you and Dean. And by the way, let me just get this out of the way. Is he your Alec replacement?"

_That_ was the follow up question she had expected. "It's complicated," Max responded. "And… I don't think so."

"Then why haven't you hit it with anyone?"

"None-ya," Max said, shivering at the memory of Dean's hands on her body, and hers on his.

"Well, I can at least say this: those Winchesters really got somethin' goin' on."

As if on cue, Dean burst through the door, eyes searching the darkness for Max.

Max saw he had changed his clothes and wished she had her bags so she could get out of her dirty, wet clothes, too. Alas, she'd have to wait until they caught up with Zack.

"Ready to go?"

* * *

In the car, tensions were… weird. Not bad, but not necessarily good either. Because of Sam's freakishly long legs, Gwen and Max sat in the back seat together, Max on a towel Gwen provided on the promise she'd wash it at the hotel.

Besides everyone else's dryness versus her soaked-ness, Max felt like she was stuck in a corner in the darkness, and had been thinking about Gwen's questions. There was no denying she was attracted to Dean, just as she had been to Alec the past few years, but was it because he looked like Alec? Because she never got to the point with Alec where they could talk about their… relationship?

She bit her cheek and stared out the window. Dean knew a few things Sam and Gwen didn't, and she hoped he didn't bring any of it up, especially not Alec.

Dean stared straightforward at the road, occasionally checking the rearview mirror to see if he could see Max; but she sat diagonally behind him, so it would have been hazardous to all four of them for him to avert his eyes from the road too long, especially considering the downpour.

What had almost gone down in that motel room had left him aching. Maybe Max was a genetically engineered soldier, but for damn sure she was all woman, and a fighter at that. He checked the rearview mirror again, moot as it were. He would only see Gwen, and she was not looking back.

Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, Gwen looked over to Max. In the darkness of the back seat and in the heavy rain, only the whites of Max's eyes reflected the shining rain, and because of that, she could see Max's eyes dart between Dean and the blurry trees just off the highway. It had to be rough for her, and Gwen did not envy the confusion she must be feeling.

She shifted her stare to Sam, who, like Dean, was watching the road. She knew there was more to him than he was letting on, and honestly, found it intriguing. She was up for the challenge. She wasn't sure how she got him under the covers back at the Surf Motel, but if Dean and Max hadn't busted in, she felt she could have found out more about what made him tick. Or what he tasted like. The thought of kissing him made her swallow nervously, and like an embarrassed schoolgirl, she blushed and looked away.

Sam felt her eyes on the back of his head but couldn't look back. Everyone seemed to be minding their own, and their silence made his speaking up seem like the awkward interruption. What would he say anyway? 'Hey Gwen, wanna go somewhere and talk?' Or even, 'Dean, what happened over the last twenty-four that's got you so wound, or is it Max?' Or, on that note, 'Hey, Max, who is this 'Alex' guy and why does everyone think Dean looks like him?' Maybe it was better they all remain quiet until they talk to one another separately. He huffed minutely and continued staring at the yellow and white lines on the road until they made it to the hotel/bar.

* * *

It wasn't a very long drive, but as soon as they found the building, the Impala's occupants could hardly wait to escape – to get inside where it was dry, and if Dean's dreams came true, to discover shelves upon shelves of hard liquor.

Max headed in with a quick "see you guys inside." Despite how convoluted the situation had become, she still wanted a shower and dry clothes. Maybe it'd help clarify some things.

Dean, Sam and Gwen each headed to the trunk to unload their belongings. Gwen removed her bag and smiled sweetly at Sam.

"Dean, we need to talk," Sam said, focused on his brother.

"Save you a drink?" Gwen asked.

Same gave a half-hearted smile and nodded.

As Gwen passed the threshold into the bar, Sam stared at Dean.

"What's up, Sammy?" he started, opening the weapons arsenal in the trunk and tossing a few blades into his duffel. "Need your own room tonight?" He wagged his eyebrows.

"No, Dean, I-" Sam stammered. He took a quick breath and hesitated before continuing. "Are we sure we really want to stay with this group? That we're actually safer with them?"

"Kind of, yeah. I mean, think about it. Bunch of soldiers can take shifts instead of one of us staying awake while the other sleeps. Plus, they have weapons." Dean saw the look his brother was giving him. "And no, it's not because of Max." _Although Max certainly has her merits, _he added mentally.

"I heard Mona talking to Zack about immunizations. How is there a vaccine for this? I thought no one was immune, but this Manticore place really stocked them up on immunities?"

"Sounds like it." Dean pulled his duffel from the trunk. "You gonna grab anything?" He nodded toward Sam's stuff and the arsenal.

Feeling rushed, Sam selected a blade and pulled his duffel from the trunk. He shut the lid on the arsenal and turned back to Dean, whom firmly closed the trunk. "Why are you being so nonchalant about this? If there really is a vaccine, shouldn't we be looking for it? Take it ourselves and try to find a way to mass-produce it?"

Dean's brows furrowed in frustration. "Because it's not that easy, Sam. There are tons of questions following that theory: How did Manticore make them immune to something that no one else even knew about? Where is this vaccine and why isn't it already being batched and shipped en masse? Is someone purposely holding out on everyone?" Dean began walking toward the bar.

"Exactly. We should be looking for it," Sam argued, following Dean.

"Okay, Sam. Where do we start?" Dean responded, stopping up short and looking to his brother impatiently. "Where do you think it'd be?"

Sam shut his mouth. Of course Dean was right. They didn't exactly have the same network they used to. They couldn't put out very many calls to their trusted friends and other hunters; there weren't very many of them left. If Dean had pushed him to start the search, he'd have told Dean the same thing. What did he expect? Checking under rocks and in old buildings? Besides that, they weren't scientists or manufacturers. What did they know about vaccines and drug factories?

Deflated, Sam ceded to Dean's logic.

"We'll ask them tomorrow," Dean said as they both entered the bar. "Not gonna get much shop talk tonight."


	13. Some For Me, Some For My Homies

Many of the transgenics were already in full relaxation mode; drinking, playing pool and darts, talking, some even flirting with each other as if they hadn't just beaten a mob and 'buried' some of their friends. The kids were nowhere in sight – probably already tucked in upstairs.

After claiming a room, Dean and Sam made their way downstairs to the bar and went their separate ways. At the counter, Dean was surprised to see a different kind of transgenic behind the bar. Kind of orangey in color, couple of spots. Dude was giving him a hard stare.

"What are you drinkin'?" came a voice from behind Dean. He turned to face Zack.

"Nothin' yet," Dean replied. "Chester's takin' his time."

Zack looked to Tony, who eyed Dean suspiciously.

"That's what Alec used to call me," the transhuman said, smiling. "It's Tony."

Dean nodded. "Dean. Whiskey."

"Dean Whiskey?"

"Winchester."

Zack sat down on the stool next to Dean. "So, Max tells me you're legit."

"Legit? Did you tell her the 90s called and they want their slang back?" Dean smiled, pleased with his joke.

Zack fixed him with a quizzical look. "What's that mean?"

Dean's smile faded. "I knew I should have gone with 'too legit to quit,'" he mumbled. "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "Sam and I been doin' this a while, much like yourselves."

Tony produced two tumblers of whiskey – one for Dean, one for Zack – and then walked away.

Zack leaned forward. "Somehow Tony's decided it's his bar and he controls the juice."

Was this guy a control freak or what? Dean wondered. This bar was already making his dreams come true after a very long day's hard work. "I'm just happy there's whiskey."

"I'll cheers to that," Zack said, lifting his tumbler and nodding his head.

As they clinked glasses, Dean took a long pull from his tumbler.

"So did Maxie fill you in?"

"On what?"

Zack eyed him suspiciously. "On why she tripped out on you back there. On what we are."

"Yeah, she mentioned it," Dean said, careful not to divulge too much. "Got attacked, but we're both fine."

That fact made Zack sit up taller, somehow on alert. "She got attacked? Is she okay?"

It was as though he hadn't just opened with the answers to these very questions. "Yeah, man, she's fine. Couple of stitches."

Zack looked toward the stairs in what would be the direction of the room Max was most likely using to shower and redress.

"Also, gotta give you props on that soldier's burial. Sorry you lost some."

Zack stared past Dean into nothingness for a moment.

Concerned, Dean took a sip of the ale. "Why'd she take it so personally?"

Pursing his lips tightly, Zack considered the question. Max never showed her emotion anymore. Once upon a time, he'd told her emotions were a liability, but ever since Alec, she'd cut him off from it, and closed her heart off. Soldier Max had compartmentalized, the likes of which astounded him.

He looked to the man sitting next to him. Dean was a hunter, and from the looks of it, a pretty good one. And if Max detected something in Dean – enough to trust him with a glimpse into the real Max (and he hoped it had nothing to do with Alec) – then he could respect that, no matter how jealous he was (and would never admit) that it was a stranger she turned to and not him.

Dean detected the odd vibe from Zack, but had no time to form questions before Zack divulged, "She's had it pretty rough." He took a sip before continuing. "So don't hurt her."

She was intriguing the hell out of him minute by minute, and the quasi-threatening only intrigued him more. The look in Zack's eyes was cold, calculating. Suddenly it hit him.

Zack was jealous.

Zack must have seen the recognition in Dean's eyes, because he looked away guiltily, slammed the remainder of his whiskey, and returned his stare to Dean. "We were in the same unit. We all called each other brother and sister, and no matter what I do, she'll always see me as brother Zack."

As the transgenic stood up, he clapped Dean on the shoulder, a kind of camaraderie suggesting how lucky Dean was not to be in the same category. "You break her heart, I break you."

Dean nodded, and as Zack walked toward the dartboard, an uproar came from the other side of the bar, where one of the dark-haired males had held a tawny-skinned woman against the wall and was – for a lack of a better description – making out with her neck.

_What the hell,_ he wondered, as all the men and women hollered and hooted, some waving their hands as if rooting for them, others clapping. The dark-haired male moved up to her mouth and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Alright Gabe and Leia!" shouted Krit. "Congratulations!"

Dean looked around to see if he could discern what congratulations were in order. The smiles of all the 'patrons' were infectious, and he felt the corners of his lips turn up.

Tony brought the whiskey bottle to Dean and poured him another.

"What's that about?" Dean asked, nodding his head in Gabe's direction.

Tony smiled. "Leia just told him she's pregnant," he said.

Dean was shocked anyone would decide to have a baby, to bring it into this world – well, the world as it was right now.

"Get a room!" Tony yelled out to them, laughing and turning back to the counter.

* * *

Sam sat at a table closest to the exit and next to a window, nursing his lukewarm beer and getting lost in his thoughts. Despite the fact that the rain was coming down in sheets and he couldn't see very far past the blurry window, he looked out anyway, searching for the distance he needed to understand the big picture. How long would it be before he or Dean would get bitten? Was it going to be like this for the rest of their lives? He couldn't wait for morning for the chance to discuss what they were all doing, what their objective would be.

"Too much thinking takes the 'hard' away from parts that might need it," came Gwen's velvety voice as she set her beer on the table.

Sam turned toward her and saw her raised brow. She smiled. "May I sit?"

He gestured toward the seat. "Of course. Sorry, I was just-"

"Thinking," she interrupted. "I know. I know that look well. You know, you really ought to consider decompressing. You know what they say about all work…"

Sam sat up straighter and looked around. No one else was having a thought-fest. They were all partying, drinking, conversing, playing games. He turned his attention back to Gwen. "You're right. Sorry."

Gwen smiled and leaned forward, the act of which pushed her cleavage toward him. "How's your ear doin'?"

"What?" he asked, leaning in. After her surprised look, he laughed. "No, I'm just kidding. It's fine. I've had worse."

"I hope I'm not worse," she flirted. She took a swig of her beer.

Sam eyed her appreciatively. "So tell me about training those kids."

* * *

Despite the pouring rain, Dean found himself out in front of the bar, under cover of its awning, staring out into the darkness, wondering about how Croats are affected by rain, wondering how many Manticorean transgenics really exist, wondering how they didn't turn when bitten, wondering how they could all party when all this shit was raining down on them, or always on the verge of raining down on them. And a part of him wondered what would have happened if he and Max hadn't been interrupted.

Okay, not so much 'wonder' as much as 'fantasizing.' As he finished the last sip of his whiskey, he leaned over the railing, resting his arms on it, and watched as little raindrops splashed into his glass.

The door to the bar opened, letting out the noise of the conversations inside, before a familiar voice asked, "Mind if I join you?"

He turned to see none other than the object of his fantasies. He smiled, half of it twitched higher on one side.

_Just like Alec._

"All freshed up," Max said, giving an uncharacteristic twirl. She wore a black form-fitting v-neck sweater over a pair of jeans and her standard boot footwear, and held two beers in one hand by their necks.

"How was the water?" Dean asked, leaning on one arm.

"Hmm…" she trailed, looking for the right word. She settled on it. "Lonely."

Alerted to her obvious flirtation, Dean chewed the inside of his lip. Why did he have the feeling she could devour him and he'd beg her for more? "Can I get you a drink?" he joked.

Max joined him at the railing, leaning against the post, and definitely invaded his personal space. She handed him one of the bottles and raised hers in a mock toast, which Dean mirrored. "To the fallen," she said, and then they both took a sip.

The v-neck really drew attention to her stitches, he noticed. Grimacing, Dean reached out to lightly sweep his fingertips across them. She was right; he would need to take the stitches out soon.

A blush blossomed on her face as she watched his hand prod lightly at her injury, then she looked back up into his eyes.

That same hazel stare looked back at her, those same lips parted in anticipation, and as his hand lifted toward her face, she got that same feeling in her stomach she'd only felt once from Alec.

Confidently, he bowed his head the remaining distance and pressed his lips to hers, and that very instant, Max was struck by their biggest difference. Yes, Dean was as confident as Alec, but h didn't have years of unresolved tension riding on a simple kiss, which Max found freeing, and somehow, real. Raising one hand to Dean's neck, she parted her lips for him and tilted her head, allowing him access, allowing him to taste her.

Slowly caressing her tongue with his, Dean felt her hand at the base of his skull, urging him to continue. He slid his hand down to her side and pulled her closer.

Kissing Max was like fanning a fire. The more he kissed her, the more intense everything became. She tasted like an uncommonly exquisite mixture of beer and sweetness, and maybe cherries and the remnants of gasoline – and it only made him desperate for her.

The harsh bang of the front door against the exterior wall broke them apart, leaving them breathless and embarrassed to have been caught. The perpetrators – a couple of rough-housing transgenics – tumbled off the front steps and fell into the street.

"Hey!" Max shouted, concerned the two may have been in a serious fight, or possible even fighting over a mate.

One of the two, Poe, a dark-haired and dark-tempered X5, lifted his head up out of the tangle of limbs. "Hey, Max!" he called good-naturedly.

Under Poe's armpit, Max saw the scrunched up face of Hem, trying desperately to gain purchase on the wet asphalt.

"Hey Max," Hem ground out between gritted teeth.

"Can you believe this guy thinks he can get away with cheating on darts?" Poe asked, elbowing Hem in the side.

Hem growled at the stab of Poe's bony elbow. "I'm drunk, Poe. It was just luck that I hit the bull's-eye while you were busy checking out Aurora, which is what you're really upset about."

Max's eyes grew wide. Aurora was an X5 Manticore had intended to be a social chameleon. She always got the best interrogation orders, and fro the past month, she'd been checking out Byron pretty hard. She'd even confided in Max how much she liked him.

Hoping this wouldn't blossom into a mate fight a few months down the line, Max spoke up. "Do I have to referee?"

Hem got an arm around Poe's neck and twisted him into a half-nelson. Poe punched him in the back. Hem grunted and loosened his grip. "No," he answered, looking up to Max.

Dean laughed. This was the type of shenanigans with which Max had to deal? Maybe things were different in the animal kingdom.

Something caught Hem's attention behind Max, and it caused him to release Poe entirely. Poe got to his feet, ready to continue their fight, when Hem patted his friend on the shoulder to alert Poe to what was going on in the bar.

Max turned to see what they were looking at. A mess of blonde curls belonging to the ruby-lipped Aurora were tangled haphazardly in Byron's hands.

"Shit, man," Poe said, watching Byron's hands dance all over Aurora's back.

Dean cleared his throat. "Is that Aurora?"

Hem nodded and turned back to Poe. "No hard feelings?" He stuck out his hand.

Reaching out to shake Hem's hand, Poe laughed. "Ah, broads…"

Heading back inside, Poe and Hem seemed to completely disregard the reason they were fighting to begin with.

Max turned back to Dean. "Those guys are a riot. Their whole unit." Her smile was infections. "Aurora's been crushin' on Byron for months. Guess she finally made her move. Poe didn't stand a chance."

Dean pieced together the situation and raised a brow. "Nevermore," he echoed the work.

Surprised, Max laughed. "_You've_ read 'The Raven'?"

Mocking agony, he grabbed his chest. "What, I don't look scholarly?"

Max fixed him with a stubborn expression and Dean faltered.

"Someone told me poetry was invented to woo women," he ceded guiltily. "Plus, not hard to figure out. Poe, Hem – which I assume is short for Hemingway – and Byron? All poets, though Hemingway's are the funniest. We're in the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain right now…" He stared past her and saw Sam talking and laughing with Gwen.

Max chuckled and posted herself at her former location, and, following his gaze, realized they may not be able to get back to their previous activities. "Gwen likes him," she offered. "I know, Captain Obvious, but she's been in a bit of a funk. Like maybe the times are getting to her. She's seen some human kids die. Took it pretty hard."

Dean took a drink of his beer and turned back to her, a more serious expression on his face. "So regular ol' humans are not immune, but you said back at the hospital that you are?"

It was a downer to be talking about this on the heels of a kiss which might have led to some (in her opinion) much needed bump and grind, but she knew the topic would come back up again eventually. Her smile faded. "Yeah. Most of us are immune to countless terrorists' wet-dream, bio-warfare and viral agents, as well as your average run-of-the-mill diseases. Someone or someones played with our codes and made us all that way."

"But those Croats at the hospital, they were, what, defective?" He wasn't sure what term he was supposed to use, but judging by the look on her face, 'defective' was the wrong one. He felt the déjà vu-type feeling he sometimes felt, which only half the time led to anger. Why was he starting to feel angry?

Max saw the shift in his eyes and stood straight, no longer in a relaxed lean on the post. "The virus mutated in them, and maybe it's the virus' evolution, not some inability of your government's shamed, secret, genetically-enhanced army to render the strain incompatible."

Yep, she was pissed at him.

Something else was bugging him and hadn't quite made it to the surface yet. He studied her body language. She'd gripped the beer bottle in one hand tightly, which was an odd feat considering she'd crossed her arms. Her jaw was shut so tight, he knew she was practicing anger control. He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. This whole thing is all fucked up, and it's pretty new to me. I'm dealing."

Max softened a little, the ire in her eyes fading a fraction as he appealed to her compassion.

"But you can at least see why I'm confused, right? First you get bit and don't change. Then we have our run-in at the hospital with three Croats that attack us – as if they'd sought us out – and not only do you know them, but they were also created by Manticore, 'cept unlike you and all of your other comrades, they are not immune."

With each piece of the puzzle stated outright as Dean's litany confirmed, Max became more worried, worried that she'd have to reveal things about herself that would endanger her life, that would make it harder for everyone to do what they needed to.

"So you wanna tell me what's going on here? I know you went through some shit, and you got some secrets, but come on. Help me understand. 'Cause I'm freakin' tired of trying to figure it out on my own."

Max huffed and set her beer on the railing. "I call them X5 Croats," she said, staring out at the street, watching the rain coat everything in sight. "I knew them. They were in Alec's unit back at Manticore."

For a minute, Dean stood still, the only sounds coming from the bar, and the rain splashing on the pavement, the wood railing, the rooftop, the cars.

"I don't know how they all managed to have genes that allowed the mutation to occur, but somehow it allows them to retain part of their training, their strategies, their," she paused, "former associations."

Turning her back to the rain as if avoiding the memory, Max propped the base of her palms on the railing.

He understood two things from explanations so far. One: Manticore's super soldiers were not all immune to the Croatoan virus, and when infected, do not become mindless, ferocious cannibals; no, they become ferocious cannibals with access (in some part) to their super soldier roots; and two: the virus could mutate based on some set of circumstances, which also meant that normal non-genetically-engineered people were twice as susceptible.

"I've been bit by an X5 Croat before," she said. "For some reason, my blood is resilient. It wouldn't let the virus in."

"What's an X5?"

"It's the type of soldier I am, the type of soldier most of us in there are," she nodded to the group inside the bar. "My series. There are X1s all the way through 8, I think. Plus they had some other series for transgenics, not to mention the transhumans, like Tony."

Understanding crossed his features. "Cheetah in his DNA?"

Max pursed her lips almost angrily. What, did he think this was funny?

He saw her incredulous look. "Just curious." He paused. "So how many X5s are there?"

"I don't know. My designation's 452, and some of the others are in the 900s, so at least a thousand? I'm not sure, there could be more facilities."

Dean scoffed on her behalf. She really was government property with a serial number and everything. He looked into the bar windows, seeing all of the soldiers fraternizing, drinking; he'd seen them act as one arm, he'd seen them go through the same things as regular humans – kiss, hell, even get pregnant. How could they be so cavalier about celebrating if they know the X5 Croat threat is imminent? Unless…

"They don't know, do they?"

Max stared at him, hating him for drawing the conclusion he did, because it meant he knew she deliberately withheld it from them. She shook her head in the negative.

Now he was angry. "Shouldn't they know the threat they're facing?"

She crossed her arms again. "Zack and I haven't told them yet – we haven't figured out how to."

"Seems pretty easy to me," he sassed. "'Hey guys, we're being hunted by our own. Be careful.'"

"It's not that easy, Dean," she began. "They may not know X5 Croats exist, and they don't know they're capable of hunting us, but we outnumber them. Since they are smarter than the average Croat, they won't attack unless they have tactical advantage."

Dean grinded his teeth, a motion which did not go unnoticed by Max.

"What?" She'd seen this look on Alec before. Pissed. "What?" she repeated.

"Me and Sam, we're sitting ducks the longer we're with you and yours. We can ward off the supernatural, but not biological warfare, viruses, and not the Croats. We are not immune."

She thought he was coming to a point.

"I gotta tell Sam."

"You can't! Not around the X5s. Not yet."

Taking an intimidating step closer, Dean asked, "How do you not see this as a death sentence? For us and for them?" He waved indiscriminately to the bar's occupants.

"You don't understand!" Max said, raising her voice.

"Damn right, I don't!"

Max closed her eyes and thought back to the last time she saw Alec. Raining, in the desert, unable to distinguish tears from rain. It wasn't fair. They'd fought this together, so what made her so special?

"Explain it to me," Dean said calmly.

Max flashed back to Alec's watery eyes. _It's you, _he had said. _You're the one._

When Max opened her eyes again, they were thick with unshed tears. "I can't," she pleaded.

Dean sighed in frustration. It was a tense minute before either of them spoke again.

"They die," Dean began, looking to the soldiers inside, "that's on you, but I'm not risking our lives to keep your little secret." He looked at Sam, who seemed to be relaxing well. He hated to take anything away from his brother. "Sammy and I are out of here come morning."

Dean set his beer down and walked toward the door.

"Wait," Max said, desperate for him to understand.

Dean turned to face her. "Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'You're right, Dean' and 'I'm gonna go tell them,' then I need some shuteye before tomorrow."

He waited for her to speak.

Paralyzed, Max stood there, staring into his peppery, expectant glare. She couldn't find the words.

"That's what I thought," he said, pulling the door open and walking inside, leaving Max standing alone on the patio.


End file.
